The Mourning Fields
by sienna27
Summary: AU where Snape survives the war. Sixteen months later, he begins to receive a series of mysterious requests from Hermione begging for his assistance. He resists. Something terrible happens. / Actual plot, romance, romance all post war so all above board. Soul bond fic.
1. Myself, Alone

**Author's Note:**

Hi all, new to the fandom, not new to writing fic :)

Regular readers, before you tar and feather me for entering a new fandom, please read the post I put up on 12/18. It will explain what happened.

New readers, this is an AU in that Snape survived Nagini. Though honestly I've read so much HP fanfic over the last few months, with at least a dozen, distinct, perfectly plausible variations on how he came through that attack (and we never saw his funeral) so it is now canon in my mind that he's still alive. It hurts no one!

Hermione is 20 here, Snape is 39. With my Tumblr post for this story I included an age regression photo someone did showing Alan Rickman at Snape's accurate canon age, late 30s, and it's so perfect and really what solidified me on this ship. Once Hermione is an adult, obviously :) More on that at the end.

The title of the story, 'The Mourning Fields' are a section of the afterlife in Greek mythology.

Lastly, new folks, my Tumblr, if you're interested in following my story posts there: sienna27

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"_Life is about choices. Some we regret, some we're proud of. Some will haunt us forever. The message: we are what we chose to be."_

\- Graham Brown

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"_This can't last. This misery can't last."_

\- Brief Encounter, The Walking Dead

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**Myself, Alone**

Snape tipped his head back from where he'd been looking up at the ceiling, to look over at the small table next to him by the hearth. His gaze was drawn, as it had been since he'd settled into the sitting room after breakfast, on the stack of parchments lying there. They had all been received over the last several days, and each had been written in the same, instantly recognizable, (to him) hand.

Hermione Granger's.

The first of her notes had been delivered by owl on Tuesday morning. It had been the longest and the most formal, addressed to him by his full name, no title, and simply, "_Spinner's End, Midlands_," for an address.

His jaw clicked as he wandlessly summoned the half crumpled note in question, and once in hand, began to read over the odd missive. It was the third time he'd done so that morning, though of course nothing had changed therein since the first time he had read it on Tuesday. And yet . . . he let out a heavy sigh . . . here he was reading it again.

_Dear Sir,_

_I will dispense here with the expected social niceties for which I know you have neither patience nor need, and come directly to my point. First though, my sincerest apologies for this correspondence which I am sure you view as a serious intrusion upon both your person, and your valuable personal time. Still, the intrusion truly could not be helped as I have backed myself into a perilous situation, one which has left me desperately in need of your counsel, and there is no exaggeration in my conveying that ONLY your counsel will do. Confidentiality is also of greatest concern here, so would you please allow me an immediate, brief, audience there in your home where we can discuss this matter in proper detail? Yes, I do understand how much I am asking of you, and yet, I am asking it anyway. _

_With Deepest Regard,_

_Hermione Jean Granger_

That was the first one, again, received on Tuesday. When he did not reply, because really Miss Granger did NOT understand what she was asking of him or she never would have asked it(!), her owl had appeared to him again on Wednesday. That note was shorter, but no less desperate, or mysterious, in tone. It was followed by one similar in need, though with a much shakier, written hand, on Thursday. The one that came on Friday was a near carbon of Thursday's, and then now this morning, Saturday, he had just summoned and was now holding, the most brief, and well, alarming, of them all. There was no salutation here, just "Snape" and "Spinner's End," and two brief sentences written in a barely legible scrawl.

"_I HAVE RUN OUT OF TIME! PLEASE, SIR, I BEG YOU TO RESPOND IMMEDIATELY!"_

If there had been any enmity behind the words, it definitely would have come through as a Howler. As it was though, clear desperation and oddly enough, blinding grief, were the emotions Snape felt pouring off this page. The words all ran together, and the ink was smeared, due to what he believed to have been teardrops which had dried on the parchment. He was assuming they were teardrops because with the proboscis he had been gifted, and the storied career he had built in the study and brewing of potions, his sense of smell was second to no one. And he was quite sure that when he lifted the parchment to his face, he could detect the faintest of faint whiffs of salinity. Also, as it was unlikely that Miss Granger had written this note while standing in the middle of the North Atlantic, tears were the logical source of the salinity.

This conclusion pained him deeply.

Because he had been staring at those dark spots on the white paper off and on for over an hour, all while he attempted to ignore the rising pangs of guilt in his conscience. This woman writing to him, this woman to whom he harbored no ill will, was literally CRYING on the page as she begged him for help . . . and he still wasn't sure whether or not he was going to give it. Of course in simple black and white, it sounded like he was just being the cruel, miserable, bastard he had once played the part of being. But that was not the reality. There was no cruelty or indifference behind his action.

Or _in_action, as the case may be.

Miss Granger's request, really her unexpected, _insistent_, reappearance in his life, it was simply . . . his lips pursed . . . too much. It had all been too much. For twenty-two years. Too much pain, too much exposure.

Too much of his soul bleeding out between his fingers.

In fact, previous to her efforts in reaching him these last few days, Hermione Granger was probably one of the few people still alive who Snape would have said truly _did_ understand how much had been taken from him already. This, now upended, conclusion had been reached by him subsequent to their last conversation.

That conversation had been at St. Mungo's three days out from the Battle of Hogwarts.

At the time he'd been on his second sleepless night in a private room of the trauma ward being administered anti-venin, muscle relaxants, blood replenishers, and strengthening potions for Nagini's EXTREMELY close to fatal, attack. So when Miss Granger had entered his room, he'd already been feeling weak and irritable with a blinding headache, and spasms in his limbs from the remnants of the venom still creeping through his circulatory system. Which meant that even though that evening he had been freshly pardoned for all of his crimes as a turncoat Death Eater . . . like the Ministry knew even half of what he'd done . . . by the new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, he was still not feeling at all 'charitable' towards his fellow wizard kind. But then that girl, woman, he reminded himself with a wince . . . she'd already been of age at the time of that visit, and so she had to be close to twenty by now . . . had shown up at his bedside. It had been at the literal witching hour, twelve midnight, and she'd been truly, a mess. Her eyes leaking, her hands shaking, her voice quivering.

It had all been very unsettling.

Certainly not how he had become accustomed to seeing her over the many years of their association. It had made him uncomfortable. Which why was for a few moments he'd tried to feign sleep so she would hopefully leave without them actually having to speak. But she hadn't left, and as the minutes had passed, it had become too difficult to ignore her sobbing. The sound, it had . . . he scowled slightly thinking back . . . well, it had _done_ something to him.

Over and over she'd choked out her tears, telling her story, saying how she couldn't believe they had left him alone in the shack, that she knew the boys had been distracted by the memories he'd given to Harry, but that it had never occurred to _her_ that he'd survived Nagini's attack. She'd said that when his voice had fallen away, and his eyes had glazed over, she'd thought that was the end. She hadn't known it was just his body going into shock. Well that, and the stasis charm he'd managed to silently cast right before he'd dropped dead for real.

At the time that had been his little secret though.

But in fact, Miss Granger had claimed to have been quote, "completely devastated," when she'd heard how Hagrid had found him lying there hours later in a pool of blood, his body chilled almost to the bone. And her guilt had been compounded by the later confirmation from the memories in the Pensieve, that he'd been working on their side right up until the end. That as disagreeable as he could be to them in class, she had actually trusted him implicitly on matters of true moral import, since that night he'd gotten between her and Lupin when Lupin had turned into a werewolf. That's when she had realized, when she was still just a child, that he was a good man who would literally lay down his life for them. And she a muggle born too, which was why it had made no sense to her later on when everyone just immediately believed that his true loyalties had been to the Dark Lord all along. So she had strongly suspected that there had been more to what had happened on the Astronomy Tower than what had appeared, but she'd never had the courage to push back against Harry's conviction that he'd killed Dumbledore in cold blood.

She'd said her cowardice on that issue was a point of shame for her.

Of course Snape had been quite shaken by her confession. The idea, the _knowledge_, that there had been someone out there who had actually still believed the best of him even in those darkest of days, was astounding. But it had been too much to take in when he was already feeling so sick, and in so much pain. So per usual when he was forced to deal with emotions that he'd rather not deal with, he'd gotten angry.

At least at first.

At first he'd wanted to just send her off immediately with his old standard dismissal of a bellow and a sneer. With his throat having been bandaged over though in three layers of magical gauze and two layers of muggle tape, on that night, his bellowing days had still been temporarily on hold.

But also . . . and perhaps, if he was honest with himself, this was really the key point in diminishing his anger . . . both her devastation, and contrition, had seemed quite sincere.

So rather than sending her off into the night with a biting, metaphorical, shove, he'd taken a shallow breath, all that he'd been capable of at the time, and had slowly reached out to catch one of the small hands wringing anxiously together at his side.

He'd squeezed her fingers.

Outside of their collective run-in with the werewolf years earlier, he'd never actually touched her before. Nor had he ever had any desire to do so.

Not until that moment.

It had been an unexpected tendril of empathy stretching out from his side. Because the war had taught him all too well the pain felt in the middle of the night when grief and regret could spiral out of control. His list of regrets had long since become too long to count.

Though it had never stopped him from trying.

Which was why when her ramblings had shorted out at his touch, and her shocked, watery eyes, had snapped up to his, he'd rasped out, "let the guilt go, Miss Granger. Just let it go. Your actions at the time were just. You have no blame here."

And then he'd shoved her hand away, shot her a tired scowl, and tipped his head pointedly towards the door.

"Now go away."

His immediate change in tone had been deliberate . . . his patience for middle of the night company had reached its end . . . and after staring at him in shock for a moment, he remembered quite clearly that Miss Granger had broken out in a wide, toothy, GRIN! It had come with another tear running down her face, and there had been a bit of drip coming out of her nose, but the crazy witch had actually seemed to be HAPPY to be told to get lost!

Her response had been ridiculous!

Because make no mistake, the harsh dismissal had been real! Just because he'd felt some genuine thread of affinity over her guilt, and some appreciation for her longstanding confidence in him, had not meant that he'd wished to be _harassed_ in his sickbed! Absolutely not! And right when he'd been on the verge of repeating his order to leave him in peace . . . she wasn't moving quickly enough for his liking . . . she'd suddenly stood up, and before he'd known what was happening, and had been able to put a stop to it, Miss Granger had shuffled two steps forward, leaned over, and kissed his forehead.

"Be well, sir," had been the whisper as she'd pulled away with a brush of her fingers along his cheek.

He'd been too shocked to even say a word.

And then just as quickly as she'd invaded his personal space, she was gone. With a turn of her heel, she'd popped out of existence. That night was the last time he'd seen her.

Approximately sixteen months earlier.

Over those subsequent weeks his thoughts had occasionally drifted to her, as they had to some of his other former compatriots with the Order. It was just him wondering . . . he rolled his eyes slightly . . . somewhat against his will, how she was doing. How they were all doing.

If it was any better than he was.

Never though, never, would he have actually reached out to any of them. And he'd made no effort to keep track of them in the papers either, though he was still getting both The Prophet and The Quibbler. Though to that end, most everyone, outside of Minerva who had been named Headmaster immediately after the war, seemed to be keeping a low profile these days. There hadn't been an article about any members of The Order (the 'noted war heroes,' a subgroup which appallingly he was considered a part of) except for the "_Where Are They Now,_" briefs compiled by The Daily Prophet for the first anniversary of the Dark Lord's defeat.

That had been about four months ago.

And because there had been SO many participants at the Battle of Hogwarts, rather than doing individual interviews, The Prophet had simply sent out owls to everyone known to be there, with a standardized request to respond to the question, _"Where Am I Now"_ with a parchment of no more than two inches in length. Though his initial inclination had clearly been to _Incendio_ the blasted page, Snape had known that his name in regards to the war effort (triple agent/murderer of the greatest wizard of their time) was a little too high profile for the editorial board to give up that quickly on his response.

Someone would have shown up at his door.

Then there would have been hexing and cursing and bodies to dispose of and he just did not need that kind of trouble in his life. Not again. So he had made a pot of tea, sat down at his kitchen table with parchment under quill, and responded to the, _"Where Am I Now"_ with a very succinct (well within requested guidelines) response of, _"Sitting in my kitchen answering insipid questions."_ That's what he had sent back with his owl. What had ended up being printed under his official Hogwarts staff photo was, "_Professor Severus Snape, Order of the Phoenix: Unavailable for comment_."

Perfect.

It had caught his attention even at the time though, that where Potter and the Weasleys en masse had all sent in what were clearly dutiful, appropriate, responses to The Prophet's inquiry, Miss Granger's brief had been almost as nebulous as his own. It had read simply, "_Miss Hermione Jean Granger, Order of the Phoenix: Traveling_."

And the photo that they'd printed above the caption, appeared to have been taken at a muggle airport. A busy one. She'd been giving the reader a formidable look over her shoulder as she had been hurrying away from the camera.

Even at the time it had been curious enough to make an impression.

No news of her, or from her, since then though. But now here she was, emerging out of the ether, sending him letter after letter begging him for "counsel." Such a strange turn of events. Truly, with a veritable Quidditch team's worth of Weasleys at her disposal, a group which could theoretically provide advice from all ranges of age and gender, what sort of 'counsel' could she require that could ONLY come from him?

Again, curious.

His brow twitched.

It was just then that he felt a press against his fireplace wards. When he pulled his wand and muttered the incantation, to his dismay, he found that the woman on his mind was the one on the other side of the floo. With a heavy sigh he dropped his wand into his lap and his head into his hands.

Damn.

Part of him wanted to just let her circle out there in the flames, because bloody hell he did not want to go back to CARING again! All of his suffering had come from giving a damn, and for the last sixteen months he'd been trying like hell to feel nothing for anyone else.

Hence his complete isolation.

But then, as he felt another press against the wards, he realized that the choice to reengage with the people of his world had finally been taken out of his hands.

She was here.

So refusing to allow her entry into his home now, was truly being a bastard simply for bastard's sake. And she hadn't done anything to him deserving of that treatment.

At least not since her first year when she'd set his robes on fire.

So with a weary grunt, Snape flicked his wand, lowered his wards on the floo, and came to his feet, ready to greet this most unwanted of guests.

For a moment though . . . nothing happened. Then he heard a scream, followed immediately by a sob of what sounded like his last name. And just as his eyebrow began to rise up in confusion, and yes, genuine concern, a body suddenly fell over the grate and into his living room.

His eyes widened in absolute horror at the sight before him.

Miss Granger . . . her hair and robes mostly burnt away on her right side, the skin on her face and both arms red and bubbling, even blackened to ash in some places. Her right ear partly melted, and the hand on that side . . . he blanched . . . those fingers had spots burnt down to exposed bone.

It looked like she'd fallen headfirst into a vat of acid.

"Miss Granger!" he gasped in disbelief while rushing forward to steady her . . . he ended up catching the two outside fingers on her left hand, the only place he could see to grasp without touching bone or weeping flesh . . . "good Merlin, what has HAPPENED to you?!"

The only response she was able to muster to his question was to let out sob as she tried to reach for his robes with her other hand. The one with the spots of exposed bone.

Not unsurprisingly, that's when she fell into him with a fresh howl of agony. Still holding the fingers of her other hand, he immediately cast a_ Mobilicorpus_ to take her off the carpet.

It was the only way to lift her without causing further pain or injury.

From there, with her now sobbing, "SIR, PLEASE HELP ME!" over and over . . . it sounded like she was in agony, and it was doing nothing for his usually formidable, emotional control . . . he quickly led her body across his small sitting room where he laid her out on her back, lowering her as gently as he could onto the lumpy old sofa. Then, after a split second wave to reset the protection wards on the floo in case someone had actually DONE this to her, he began to run diagnostic spells.

"Wait, these are POTION burns!" He sputtered out in both alarm and confusion, as the results began to read out in front of him. "What in the name of Merlin's beard though were you trying to brew that was so volat . . .?"

As the words fell away from his lips with a gasp, Snape's eyes burned as he suddenly realized that _this_ was why Miss Granger had needed to speak to him, and ONLY to him. She'd needed to brew a potion. One that with no oversight from him, had apparently, quite literally, blown up in her face.

_Bloody fucking hell, what had he DONE?!_

Feeling warring stabs of guilt and shame and horror at his behavior, behavior which had led to this . . . he winced and dropped his watery gaze away from her body and down to his boots . . . devastation, for a moment he could do nothing. But then he heard another sob from the sofa and immediately blinked the moisture from his eyes as he shook off his internal flagellation. There would be time to hate himself later, and for all eternity if needed. In the present he needed to refocus his efforts, and considerable skills, in fixing this . . . he shook his head . . . MONSTROSITY of a mistake that he had made.

So he took a deep breath, settled his Occulmency shields into place so he could keep a sharp focus, and then began the healing spells.

It took two incantations to remove the remnants of the still sizzling potion splattered on Miss Granger's clothes, hair and skin. Six full incantations of _Vulnera Sanentur_ before her body stopped writhing and the bubbled flesh had smoothed over to raw flesh again. Another fifteen minutes and he'd removed the worst of the char from her skin, reshaped her ear, the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, and had healed the worst points of exposure on her hands.

At least well enough that the bone beneath was no longer visible.

Still, even with all of that attention, and him at that point with sweat pouring off his brow, the burns themselves were still there, raw and glistening in all their horror. All he'd really done so far was just stop her body from going into shock and dropping dead right there. What was left on her now were, based on the muggle terminology he knew, mostly second degree burns covering all of her visible skin. It was a gruesome sight, and he was sure still an agonizing state of being. Fortunately Miss Granger had passed out from the pain halfway through the second set of his incantations.

Now that he'd brought her to this state though, he felt it was safe enough to leave her alone for a few moments so he could get the supplies he needed to rebuild her missing skin and flesh. So after lowering his Occulmency shields again . . . he didn't want to frighten her with a blank stare . . . he wiped the back of his sleeve across his brow to clear the sweat away, and then reached down with his other hand to loosely take hold of those two pristine fingers again. Vaguely, he wondered just how it was they'd managed to escape any damage at all.

Either way he gave them a squeeze.

"All right, Miss Granger," he said softly when her lashes, (burnt down though they were), flickered open, and her pain filled gaze snapped up to his, "that's as much as I can do with incantations. It's time for me to go get the potions."

It took a second before he was sure that she'd actually processed what he'd just said to her. And that's when her withered lashes fluttered wide open. Her gaze was bloodshot and watery, but still full of so much intelligence as she looked up at him.

"I'm so sorry for being such a bother, sir."

Her words were choked, as though they too came out from the ash. And he found something in his chest tightening at the misery he heard there.

"It is no bother to heal you, witch," he grunted back with a light scowl, "so don't be such a Longbottom."

Noting how the corner of her burnt upper lip quivered at his insult of her former classmate, he found that pain in his chest increasing. He covered over his discomfort with another faint squeeze of her pinky and ring fingers.

"Try to be still," he whispered, "I'll be back as quickly as possible."

As he let go, she gave him a faint nod and curled both of her hands back to her tattered robes, holding them there like loose claws. From the way her limbs were shaking and her eyes were tearing, he could see that she was in unfathomable pain. He made a vow to himself then that he would make this right. Whatever counsel she needed from him, whatever her secrets, whatever she'd done, he would listen. And he would help. His jaw twitched as her burnt lashes fell closed again.

This abomination would not stand.

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_A/N 2: Couple key points. For purposes here, I'm considering 'canon' to be anything covered in either the books or the movies. I'm sure there are 'purists' who disagree with this approach :) but it's all one big tapestry in my brain, so if it was in one medium or the other, I consider it official. Hence the memory of Snape stepping between Were Lupin and Hermione. For them it happened, and for her reasons articulated here, I can see it logical that Hermione with her intelligence and objectivity (something the boys didn't have) would have felt an immediate trust in Snape from that point, even if he was still a bastard on occasion._

_This will not be a Ron bashing tale, but it will become clear that they are not together here for reasons. As it will also become clear just what Hermione was trying to brew when it blew up in her face. And I needed that St. Mungo's visit as a bonding point to make it clear why she would still go to him, even after all that time. They had parted on good terms. _

_The next chapter is mostly done, and hopefully I can get it up next week. There is an actual plot here beyond romance, Hermione's 'secret,' and it's not a storyline that I came across in all my reading the last few months (not to say it's not out there somewhere, but I think it's fairly unique – fingers crossed) so I'm thinking maybe seven chapters at the outset to wrap everything up. I already wrote the end so at least that's done. Now we just need the middle bits :)_

_FYI, I do tend to ramble here on these second ANs, but it's generally my writing process. If there were any 'key notes' for the story itself, it would always be covered briefly in the beginning._

_It's always difficult starting a new fandom because you lose most of your base reading audience, so I would love to hear from you folks! Hope you're enjoying things so far :) _


	2. Ashes To Ashes

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for the warm welcome to this fandom! It's been a rough time lately so that was a nice surprise, truly :) And as a reward (not just for being nice, but because it was done :)) the second chapter, a little earlier than I had anticipated. Please do not become accustomed to twice weekly postings because long term readers will attest, they are a unicorn!

To the chapter, we're now into my more usual writing style of shifting back and forth between the perspectives of each main character. I'd stayed exclusively with Snape the first time around because it was his world we were walking into. Now Hermione gets to be conscious (yay), so she's getting her own voice too.

Picking up shortly after we left.

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**Ashes To Ashes**

Snape returned to Miss Granger as quickly as was possible, but it still took him at least five or six minutes to gather together all that he felt was needed to properly treat her in the short term.

So when he finally arrived back in the sitting room, he had a pillow from his bed and one of his nightshirts, tucked under his arm, and a half dozen phials of potions clutched in his hands and stuffed into his robe pockets. Fortunately he had almost everything he would need to get her to the next stage in her recovery, already prepared, and what he didn't have ready for her now, he could have fully brewed by midnight. The one positive, (if it could be called that) of being tortured on a regular basis for over twenty years was that he did now keep, "a little bit of everything," in his personal potion stores, just in case something horrible happened. Well . . . he began to lay everything out on top of his parents' ancient, cigarette scarred, coffee table . . . something horrible _had_ happened.

It was just that this time it hadn't happened to him.

On some level he was perversely grateful at the realization of something tangibly, and objectively, good coming from his moronic decision to become a Death Eater at seventeen. For all the times he'd been flayed or crucio'd simply because that was the life one lived in subservience to the Dark Lord, now he would be able to save Miss Granger because of it.

It was something.

And after he'd revived her yet again with another shake of those two outside fingers, he carefully tucked the pillow under the back of her head, wincing when she let out a cry of pain as the fabric brushed against the raw flesh of her just reformed earlobe.

"Apologies," he murmured while stepping back with a faint tip of head, "but I need you elevated to take the potions."

"Right," she let out a shallow, unsteady, slightly hitching, breath, "okay, I'm ready."

So with her lifting her chin slightly, he brought the first of the tiny phials of colorful liquid to her burnt lips, and poured it down her throat. That first potion was for the pain, the second one he gave her was to begin the deep tissue muscle, dermal, and nerve regeneration, the third was for the outer, epidermal, regeneration, then there was the calming draught to help her anxiety, after that a strengthening potion, and finally there was a half dose of sleeping potion to help her rest through the worst of the first part of the regenerative cycle.

It took almost four minutes to get her to swallow the first five phials, as they had to keep stopping so Miss Granger could get them down her damaged pharynx and esophagus.

The potion fumes had caused burns there too.

So it came as no surprise to Snape, that by the time he'd picked up the sleeping potion, he could see from the way she was gagging and shaking her head, that the witch was on the verge of tossing the whole lot of them back up again.

That would have been disastrous.

"Look at me, Miss Granger," he implored softly while leaning down to catch her gaze.

And when she looked up, with shimmering pools of absolute panic in her eyes . . . she was definitely on the verge of vomiting . . . he shook his head.

"You will _not_ be sick," he continued firmly, "you will take a slow, shallow breath, and you will hold it for five seconds. Then you will let it out, and then you will do it again." He tipped his head. "Now."

It took only a moment before she began to do as he had instructed. Slowly taking a breath in . . . holding it . . . and then letting it out again. He talked her through three cycles of controlled breathing, watching as if not the pain, at least the panic, slowly faded from her countenance. Though he was sure that the calming draught was assisting some with her emotional response, he knew that nothing he had given her would truly help with the nausea outside of her own sheer force of will.

Fortunately he knew that her will was formidable.

And after she'd reached the final, slow, exhalation, she just looked up at him. Their eyes were locked, and though he was not deliberately trespassing on her thoughts, with her strength so depleted, it was easy to read what she was clearly projecting there to him. Of course there was pain, and fear, those were overriding almost everything else. But also . . . somewhat to his surprise . . . he could see how much she trusted him, and that she had an existing level of genuine affection for him. Most importantly though, or at least most important to him, were the last things that she showed him. That he made her feel safe.

And that she believed he could fix anything.

Being given that knowledge was an odd boost to his own level of confidence . . . and confidence was clearly _not_ an area where he was lacking as it was . . . so in response, and thanks, he lowered his own shields so that she could read him back without straining her limited strength. And what he projected for her, was not only his appreciation in her sharing her trust of him, but also true concern for her mental welfare and physical condition. And yes, there was admiration and affection there on his side as well.

He could see how her watery eyes widened in surprise at that.

But for as frustrating and complicated as it had been to deal with her in her formative years (she had been an annoying child – and he let her see that too), those years had long passed. Things had started to change that summer in Grimmauld Place. She'd lived there for many weeks with the Weasleys, and he'd often stayed there overnight to facilitate his business with the other members of The Order. It was in that time when he'd come to observe that outside of a classroom, where she was constantly begging for approval, Miss Granger's personality was far more tolerable. Not only was she generally quiet, (an admirable trait in a teenager), but she was also studious and respectful.

And much more mature than the entire Weasley clan on the whole.

It wasn't until a few years later though, after that night in St. Mungo's, and what he'd learned later on about how crucial she too had been in winning the war, that he'd realized how as she had matured, he truly had grown much fonder of Miss Granger as a person. The things he had started to observe when she was still an adolescent, had become her dominant traits as an adult. She was textbook brilliant, and perceptively clever, and he felt there was little in the world that she could not do, once her will was set to do it.

He let her see all of that too.

That's when he saw her swallow again as a tear slipped down her cheek. Then she gave him a firm nod.

"Okay," she whispered hoarsely, "I'm ready for the last one."

As he had known she would be.

"Good," he answered sharply while leaning in to press the glass to her lips, "because you will want to sleep for these first few hours of tissue regeneration." He shook his head as he slowly straightened up.

"They will not be pleasant."

Noting how her raw and reddened skin somehow managed to pale at that news, he had to look away for a moment. But then he heard her choke out an alarmed, "sir!" and his eyes snapped back to see that her whole body had begun to shake.

"This is normal," he assured her with a firm tip of his head as he scrambled to catch her left hand again, "it is the first stage, and it will pass in a moment."

The healing potions were seeking out the damaged tissue, and they were finding there was much to be done.

It took approximately two minutes for the worst of the shaking to subside, and somehow he found himself holding her fingers for that whole period of time. But once her body had began to settle, and the panic once again began to fade from her eyes, leaving only the pain that he had become her default expression, he let go of her pinky and raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like some water now before the shaking gets worse again?"

Seeing her wince and nod as fresh tears filled her eyes . . . tissue regeneration hurt like bloody hell, and no amount of pain potion was going to shield her completely from the process . . . he quickly turned and transfigured one of the empty potion phials on the coffee table, into a plain glass.

He shot an _Aguamenti_ out of his wand.

Once the transformed phial was half full, he turned back, and leaned down to press the glass to Miss Granger's reddened lips. After she'd drank her fill, including dribbling a decent amount down her chin . . . it was hard to drink when your nervous system was in spasms . . . he set the glass down on the coffee table and turned to her again. That time to begin gently dabbing away the water droplets on her face, being careful to not actually touch her skin, with a small black handkerchief that he'd pulled from one of his robe pockets.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered hoarsely as he straightened up, and another tear slipped down her cheek, "my throat was killing me."

"Of course," Snape murmured self consciously while tucking the small black square back out of sight. "And now," he let out a heavy sigh, "the sleeping potion will activate momentarily, and that should give you hopefully, a solid four hours of unconsciousness. But to be clear," he tipped his head, "with the amount of tissue damage your body has suffered, the amount of discomfort you're going to feel during the healing process will be," his jaw twisted, "extreme."

Noting the flinch on the face of the young woman in front of him, as another tear spilled over and slid down along her burnt cheek, he reached out to again hook his pinky and ring fingers through hers.

This action had already become his default method of offering a type of physical comfort that he was not used to providing. Not to anyone. Ever. However, she was suffering, and he didn't want her to feel as though she was alone during this time, which meant that he needed to be more than the man that he usually was.

This was him trying.

"I do not wish to frighten you with my assessment," he continued firmly, in his most professorial tone . . . the one he felt she would respond to best given the information he was conveying, "simply to prepare you for the worst, should it come. However," he took a breath, "it is my belief that you have probably already born the worst of the pain you are going to feel from this experience, when you stumbled through my floo. Everything your body goes through from here on out, will be under a steady, and regimented, dose of pain potion. The one I gave you a few minutes ago will help you to stay asleep, and while you're sleeping I'm going to start working on a stronger dosage for you. The strongest one that can be made. I have the ingredients, and it will take about twelve hours to brew, so fortunately it should be ready in time to give you a decent night's rest. And on that last note," he sucked in a heavy breath before his voice hardened slightly, "as you won't be well enough to leave here for at least the next several days, is there anyone you wish for me to contact regarding your location, and/or condition?"

Though it was likely to cause _him_ physical pain to have either Weasley or Potter step foot into his home, (Merlin forbid both of them) Snape would allow it if that's what Miss Granger desired. Pain potions and calming draughts notwithstanding, her recovery was going to be a trial. And most people (not himself of course, but MOST people) would prefer to have emotional support from . . . he bit back an internal sneer . . ._ loved_ ones during such an ordeal. So he was surprised, shocked almost, when Miss Granger's remaining brow darkened at his question, her right one had mostly burned away, and she gave him a sharp shake of her head.

"No," she sniffed back, "there's nobody that needs to know what's happened."

The way she pointedly looked away from him after she'd said those words caused Snape to immediately become suspicious. There were clearly many unusual things going on in Miss Granger's life for which he was not currently aware, but the idea that she was now so distant from those boys that she wouldn't at least wish for them to be aware of her horrible accident, was almost unbelievable.

In fact he could not believe it.

So again, even though he absolutely did NOT want either of her 'friends' in his home, given her response, he couldn't stop himself from leaning down to catch her watery eyes again.

"Really," he asked with a narrowing of his gaze, "we don't even need to contact that gingered dunderhead?"

That time the question elicited a response of visible alarm on her face.

"Please sir," she whispered sadly with an unsteady shake of their joined fingers, "please don't contact _any_ of the gingers," she bit her lip, "nor anyone with a notable scar either. What I was doing, what's been happening, I," she swallowed and looked away again, "it was private."

"And yet you reached out to me for help with this _thing_," he bit back tightly, and with obvious confusion, almost anger, "with this thing SO private that you don't even want your closest friends to know of it."

Her teary eyes shot back to his.

"Yes," Hermione took a slow breath, this time careful not to blink, "I did. I trust only you with this. Only you will understand what I have done. The others," she swallowed, "they would never forgive me. You might not either but," another tear slide down her cheek, "I'm already damned. So though it would make me so sad," her lips twisted in a grimace of a smile, "if it comes, I'll take your condemnation too."

Another moment passed where they just stared at one another. Surprisingly, Snape was the one that looked away first. And to cover over his own emotional shock and discomfort at her admissions . . . what in bloody hell could this witch, one who had breathed nothing but light since he had known her, have done that she felt was so horrific as to bring about her own damnation . . . he took a shallow breath and refocused his efforts on getting her settled in to sleep.

With a gentle shake of his hand, he disentangled their joined fingers, so he could reach over and pick up the long black nightshirt he'd tossed onto his reading chair next to the sofa.

A few quick wand waves later and the thick cotton garment had been transformed into an unlikely combination of flannel lined in silk. Silk being the only texture he thought her sensitive skin would be able to tolerate scraping against it.

And of course flannel for the warmth.

Then with a raise of an eyebrow, he asked the woman still closely staring up at him, "are you ready to change out of your burnt clothing?" When she gave him a sharp nod, he immediately looked to the wall behind her while muttering, "_Evanesco_" as he carefully moved his wand over her ruined robes, and the muggle shirt and undergarment she wore underneath. Of course none of those items were doing much to conceal her modesty in their current state of disrepair.

Most of those fabric layers were in tatters halfway down her chest.

Once all of that had disappeared though, with him still focusing very intently on a fly spot on that wall behind the sofa . . . this gave him only the faintest impression of her bare, pink and white flesh beneath him . . . Snape gave another wave of his wand and the nightshirt in his hand was instantly fitted over the slim body below.

When he looked down, now that it was safe to do so, he saw that she was practically swimming in the dark fabric. Given her condition though, he figured it was best to leave the garment as loose as it was so it wouldn't chafe her skin.

"Is that better?" he asked with a quirk of his brow as he tucked away his wand. And she gave him a now faintly sleepy, though still pained, smile as her pinky finger brushed along the soft fabric covering her mid-section.

"Yes, very much," she let out a heavy sigh, "thank you."

"All right then, I'll just take care of these . . ."

As his words trailed off awkwardly, he leaned down to pull the trainers from her feet. Fortunately they had been spared any visible damage from the brewing incident, so he just tucked them down on the carpet at the end of the sofa. This now left Miss Granger in his modified nightshirt, and her muggle jeans and socks. And seeing that the witch was finally on the verge of passing out, he gave her pinky another tap while asking quietly, "Miss Granger, do you want me to remove your trousers as well?"

With or without context, it was a somewhat uncomfortable question to ask of a young woman in her condition. Especially one clearly about to pass out. Given the potency though of the regenerative potions currently swirling through her body, he had to figure the less tactile stimulation against her skin the better.

Hence the idea of removing her blue jeans.

Still, he watched with some degree of apprehension as Miss Granger's lashes fluttered, and she looked up blankly for a moment. Then she seemed to process what he'd said and she gave him a faint nod as her eyes began to fall shut again.

"Yes, please take them off," she murmured with a faint wince, "they're starting to scratch my legs."

"Right," he harrumphed with a bit of conceit, while performing another quick _Evanesco_ to vanish the denim covering her lower body, "that was my presumption in asking the question. Your entire nervous system is going to be incredibly sensitive to external stimuli for the next few days, so essentially I believe the fewer layers you're wearing, the more comfortable you will be."

"Hmm," she mumbled as her eyes began to close once again, "makes . . . smphf."

Noting how her words had trailed off into nonsense, Snape realized that the sleeping potion had finally done what it was supposed to do.

Put Miss Granger into a state of unconsciousness.

Which was really the best state for her, because she didn't need to be awake and aware, of every ravaged cell and flayed nerve ending knitting themselves back together. Even if the pain potion would dull her senses, she would still FEEL it happening, and he knew from experience . . . though his injuries had been on a far less extreme level . . . how unsettling it would be. So the more of that process she could sleep through, the better.

Still, she looked so vulnerable now in just the oversized nightshirt and her mismatched pink and blue socks. Her legs were bare, with a fresh spot of bruising on her left shin bone and a layer of furry growth on both legs, starting from what was visible from just above her knees, down to her ankles. It had been many years since he'd seen such stubble on a woman, and it was a curious intimacy now to see that layer of new hair, given the previous, _private_, circumstances when such occasions had arisen in the past. It reinforced to him just how much of an adult Hermione Granger really had become.

This was a woman's body.

At that realization, he felt the strangest, most inexplicable, surge of protectiveness. Miss Granger was a fierce dueler, and a battle seasoned combatant in a literal war against evil. Not a witch that most wizards would feel was in need of their physical protection. And yet . . . he let out a slow breath as his gaze shifted back to her sleeping countenance . . . and yet.

Here he was.

As his wand hand twitched, Snape saw that there was no point in pondering that line of thought any further at the moment. So with her condition now relatively stable, and her finally sleeping, he turned and walked out of the living room to head down the front hall to the main coat closet. Once there he opened the slightly creaky door and reached up to pull down an old quilt of his mother's from the top shelf. After he'd stepped back and gave it a shake to get out the dust (and any potential spiders), plus added a _Scourgify_ for good spider dissolving measure, he transfigured the quilt just as he had his nightshirt.

One side in the softest of smooth silk, the other in a warm, thick, flannel.

Then he walked back into the living room, gave the newly transformed blanket another gentle snap and leaned over to cover over the young woman on his sofa. Fortunately the quilt was large enough, without any additional modifications on his part, to cover Miss Granger fully from her shoulders, down over just past her sock covered toes. Though he had some concerns with covering over her hands, (they were currently still the rawest of the damaged tissue, and therefore most prone to chafe while reforming), he decided that it was worth the risk to keep her from getting a chill. Because a cold Miss Granger was much more likely to start tossing and turning in her sleep, and though he could of course cast a spell to keep her from rolling about, he really didn't feel comfortable doing so.

Not when it hadn't been something they'd discussed prior to her passing out.

Her waking up frozen and terrified that she was unable to move, (and clearly she would be terrified at such a turn of events) was not a thought that sat well with him.

And after he'd added another log manually added to the fire . . . some things he did occasionally prefer to handle without magic . . . the living room was definitely warm enough for her.

Just when he was about to leave her alone so he could go begin brewing the enhanced pain potion, he suddenly rolled his eyes at his own stupidity.

The sofa.

It was ridiculous . . . he pulled his wand back from his sleeve . . . and not really conducive to her proper rest, to leave Miss Granger lying on the lump laden, decades old sofa that he was quite sure his parents had inherited from a relative already long dead on his father's side, before Snape was even born. Really . . . he quickly cast another transfiguration spell . . . he should just levitate the whole thing into the bin, but for some reason he had left the house as essentially a shrine to his abusive childhood.

And then he'd decided to live there.

Yes, that was a decision he needed to examine at some point, but most definitely not today. For now, as he took a breath and tucked his wand away again, he was just pleased to have been able to reconfigure this ugly old piece of furniture, which he barely used anyway . . . he'd always preferred the wingchair for reading . . . into something useful. Because now, pressed against the wall under the faded landscape painting of industrial Manchester in the nineteen sixties (it was bad art even then), was a simple twin sized bed with a thick, doubly cushioned, mattress there for Miss Granger's battered body to rest upon. It was perfect.

At least as far as temporarily needed sickbeds went.

The last thing he did before leaving the room was quill out a quick note on a piece of torn parchment. It very simply said, _'if I am not here when you awaken, I am likely down in my lab. If you are in distress, or simply need assistance, scream. I will hear you. I promise. - SS'_

Then he cast a charm on the note and left it hovering within eyesight just over Miss Granger's chest.

/*/*/*

Hermione was startled awake to the sounds of fire crackling and classical music in the air.

_Clair de Lune_, if her brain was remembering correctly.

Not that it mattered, but the piano chords were soothing, though not soothing enough to wipe away the remnants of the horrifying nightmare from which she'd just stumbled. Her heart was still racing as the adrenaline continued to surge, and the memories of the things she had done continued to plague her waking vision. But then suddenly she focused in on the note hovering in front of her, the one telling her to scream if she was in distress . . . and she was indeed in distress . . . so she decided to do exactly as instructed.

"SIR, I NEED YOU!"

It was clearly a scream, but the words came out hoarse and choked as her throat was still not fully healed.

Snape was there in an instant, (he must have just been in the other room), because he was immediately soothing, "I'm here Miss Granger, I'm right here," as he leaned over and put his hand on top of her blanket, down by her foot.

He gave her ankle a faint squeeze.

The sight of him immediately had a calming effect on her, as did his touch, light though it was. But it was clear in how his gaze narrowed as he stared into her eyes, that the reason for her state of agitation had not escaped his notice.

"Night terror?" he asked with a soft voice and a sharply raised eyebrow. It was a curious combination of the professor she once knew, and this kinder version of that man who had been taking such gentle and attentive care of her since she'd fallen, on the verge of death, into his living room.

Even by the standards of her life so far, it had been a strange day.

Still, for a moment she could only stare up at him in a fresh panic as the images from her sleep, the things she'd done, assaulted her yet again. Tears began to fill her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered back, her voice heavy with emotion, "it was awful. It still is," she sniffled and shook her head trying to clear away those thoughts, "I can't talk about it though, not yet, it's part of the other thing. But," she sniffed and looked up at him again, "everything hurts too." She winced, "everything. Like I'm being stabbed by a thousand tiny knitting needles, all from the inside," her brow wrinkled in worry, "is it too soon for another pain potion?"

_Please Merlin, don't let it be too soon!_

"No," Snape shook his head slowly as he gave her one final, appraising, look, "no, it's not too soon." Then he turned to reach behind him for the healing supplies he'd laid out on the coffee table. When he turned back, he had a fresh potion phial in hand.

"You've actually slept longer than I had anticipated," he continued speaking while releasing the stopper on the small glass bottle, "it's been just over five hours since the last dose. You're slightly overdue."

Those words were said while he leaned over to press the phial to Miss Granger's freshly reborn lips. They were a bit thin with dehydration, but he was pleased to see that the color was a bright, healthy, pink.

It was the only part of her face, body, that had completely healed so far.

Her appearance in general though . . . missing chunks of hair and one eyebrow notwithstanding . . . was slightly less, _upsetting_, overall. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the speed of her recovery process, but given how bad she'd looked when she'd arrived, 'less upsetting,' was actually encouraging.

Though for obvious reasons this was not a term he would be using with her directly.

After she'd swallowed the colorful liquid, Hermione looked back up at Snape with a blink.

"I haven't slept in three days," she explained quietly, "so that's probably why the sleep potion was more effective than you'd expected it would be."

Though Hermione had expected this man who missed nothing, would have something to say about her admission, all he did was narrow his gaze again. And as his lips pursed slightly, she sensed that there was quite a bit on his mind at that moment. Before she could say anything further though, he tipped his head to the side.

"Provided you have no complications, we'll discuss that, and everything else, tomorrow. There's no point in even starting the conversation today," he shot her an eyebrow, more wry than even exasperated, "I can't yell at you when you're in this condition. It would be unseemly."

Though he clearly wasn't angry with her at the moment, Hermione still felt a churn in her stomach knowing just how upset he was going to be when he'd found out the things that she'd done over the last six months.

She had to look away before she began to cry again.

After a moment of silence had passed, filled only by the crackle of the fire, and those still faint keys of _Claire de Lune_ floating through the air, she licked the edge of her upper lip . . . it felt so much better now than it had before . . . and looked back over at him.

He was still staring at her.

"Were you able to brew that other pain potion?" She asked softly. Though of course she knew that he had, because Severus Snape had always done exactly what he'd said he would do. That's how they had won a war. But for now, this was a neutral, rhetorical, question intended to reset the tone of the conversation. And as expected, the searching look on his face gave way to a blank expression.

"If you are asking if I was able to brew the potion for which I said I would brew, and have been qualified to brew for over twenty-three years then, yes," he gave her a droll look, "yes, I did that."

The answer was so perfectly Snape that even given the circumstances . . . being in absolute misery in both body and soul . . . Hermione found her eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

"Just checking," she answered with a faint huff. And as expected she received a dry, "indeed," in return, which brought a spot of warmth to her chest.

It was a strange comfort to have such a history with someone whom she had not seen in so long, that she could still anticipate his reactions in almost any circumstance. And yet, as Snape moved closer murmuring that she needed to sit up, and then began carefully shifting her body . . . via a combination of muttered spells and physical touch . . . with a care and tenderness never seen by the man who had been her professor, she was reminded that she really didn't know him at all.

This was someone new.

But once he had her propped up against the pillow, which he quickly set with an Engorgement Charm to fluff it up, (it was so much more comfortable then) he adjusted her blanket so her arms were again free, and stepped back to give her an appraising eyebrow.

"Are you comfortable?"

For a moment she didn't answer him, she was too busy staring down at her slowly reforming fingers. They were still too thin, missing muscle and nerve and tendons, and the flesh was still shiny, almost translucent, in a way that made her feel sick to see.

All of that horror must have been on her face when she looked up at him a moment later, because she saw his expression soften right before he pulled out his wand.

"_Velo_," he murmured while looking down at her hands, and then suddenly they were covered over in silken gloves.

Black of course.

Grateful tears filled her eyes as she looked back up at him.

"Thank you," she whispered, "that was very upsetting to see."

"Yes," she saw him grimace while tucking his wand away again, "and I should have anticipated that it would be, and covered them while you were sleeping. I am sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," she responded with a shake of her head, "you've been wonderful. All of this," she looked down at the warm, yet silky, cloth he had her covered in, which was keeping her from seeing her injuries, "it's making everything much easier to bear." Then to lighten the mood, she could see a bit of pink forming on her cheeks at her praise, she added with a faintly hoarse, huff, "and I really like the black. I feel like a muggle rock star."

Noting how Snape's upper lip twitched faintly at her comment, she knew the awkwardness had been removed.

Good.

"It was not intentional to drape you all in black," he responded with an eye roll, "one item just led into another. Now then," he turned back to the coffee table which he'd repurposed into his personal apothecary, "time to complete the second round of potions. Though this time," he turned back to her with three phials in hand, "we'll be holding off on the sleeping draught so you can eat first. Regeneration will burn off quite a few calories, and," he gave her slim frame a once over, "it does not appear that you have any extra calories to burn."

A bit of a flush was felt on Hermione's face then . . . one which manifested as a curious tingling given what the potions were doing to her tissue . . . when she realized that he had noticed her extreme weight loss. That was exactly why she'd been avoiding Harry and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys all summer.

Just looking at her, having lost more than a stone since the spring, they all would have known instantly that something was seriously wrong.

And it was clear in how Snape was looking at her now, that this was the conclusion that he had come to as well. To his credit though, just like earlier, he still said nothing.

Clearly he would be keeping to his decision to discuss all of it tomorrow.

So instead he just shook his head and leaned in to given her the next phial. Just one through four that time, and then again he reached for her fingers when the tremors started, and didn't let go until they'd stopped.

As he started to turn away, Hermione bit her lip. Then she asked the question that had been on her mind since he'd listed her healing regiment.

"Are you not going to give me any Dittany, sir?"

She saw his head snap back, his eyes widening first in surprise, and then visible hurt, just before his brow set in a scowl.

"Did you think I had plans to leave you as a_ monster_?"

Her eyes popped.

"What?!" she gasped, "no, of course not! I hadn't meant the question as an insult! I just, I'm so used to Dittany for everything, specifically to counter scarring I just," her eyes began to burn as she looked at him again, "I was afraid that maybe this degree of injury would leave scars no matter what, so that's why you hadn't bothered with it. That there was no point."

As soon as she finished speaking, the words he had spoken suddenly shot into her core.

"Wait," she took a breath as her eyes filled, "_am_ I a monster?! Is THAT how bad I look?!"

Though she knew just from the pain, that her injuries were horrific, Snape wasn't avoiding looking at her face, not like she would have expected if she really was that hideous. But maybe he was actually keeping his Occulmency shields up when he dealt with her, so that he could pretend like things weren't that bad. And realizing then that was EXACTLY something that he would do, Hermione felt another surge of horror as she started to reach up with her gloved hands to feel along her jawline.

It was the only way for her to see.

But just before she was able to make contact, Snape had his wand out, and had frozen them in mid air.

"Bloody hell, witch," he yelled, "do NOT touch your face!"

Snape knew that yelling at the woman, AFTER telling her that she looked like a monster, was not his finest moment. A point brought home to him when she suddenly burst into sobs. And feeling a stab of pain in his own chest at seeing her reaction, and knowing that it was all his fault she was so upset, he quickly waved his wand to lower her arms back to the bed. Then he reached out to catch those two fingers on her left hand. They felt different now with the gloves on.

Her watery eyes snapped up to his.

"You are NOT a monster," he stated firmly, "but I will not lie. It is very bad, but it will get better. It is better already. I can see the differences in your face and limbs, subtle though they may be at this stage. And I do plan on applying Dittany after your third round of potions. There would be no point in doing it_ earlier_," he shot her a look, "because you still have very little actual skin left to scar. But the underlying muscle and nerve tissue has clearly begun to regenerate. That is clear in how your flesh has filled out over your bones again. In another six hours, you should once more have a thin layer of epidermis covering those areas. _That_ is when we will apply the Dittany. When it will count," his eyebrow inched up, "does this make sense to you?"

"Yes," she sniffled and nodded gratefully, clearly comforted by his explanation, "yes, it does. Thank you and," she gave him a weak smile, "I'm sorry if my question came out hurtful. I know that you know what you're doing, and I trust you completely. I just didn't understand the steps."

For a moment Snape simply stared down at her, then his jaw twitched.

"I could have explained your healing regiment better. It was a mutual misunderstanding," he tipped his head, "I will get the tea."

As he turned and stepped out of the room, Hermione watched him go with a sniff, and a faint twist of her own jaw.

Well, at least she wasn't doomed to a life living under a perpetual, full face, glamour to avoid frightening small children. That was a comfort. And he hadn't denied that her question had hurt him either. That one was a surprise. _Professor_ Snape had always seemed much too hardened (and battle worn really) to have ever allowed such an admission. Like it would have been a weakness to admit that such a thing as 'emotional injury' could happen to him. It was encouraging to see that the man who had survived the war, two wars now, had evolved a bit beyond such a shell.

Her eyes fell shut then with both physical and emotional weariness. Crying was exhausting.

As was rebuilding her skin and muscle from the ground up.

More to the point though, there was much on her mind as she was thinking about what was going on at her family's summer cottage in Cornwall. She was wondering if everything there would be okay until she was able to get back. Or if maybe she would have to send Snape through tomorrow to handle things temporarily in her absence.

Just the thought of it made her stomach hurt.

But then she remembered that the stasis charms she'd set there there would definitely hold another twenty-fours, so she had until at least noon tomorrow to decide what to do, and how much she might have to confess to Snape before she was able to explain the whole horrible chain of events properly. So realizing then that there was no point in dwelling on these thoughts at the moment, especially when she really should just be focusing on her recovery, she let out a heavy breath.

And she waited for her caregiver to return.

* * *

_A/N 2: So some points here obviously laying the groundwork for a proper relationship. Snape's realization that not only is Hermione an adult by the calendar years, but that she has a woman's body now, was obviously a key delineation for him. As was Hermione noting that the gentler version of this man who was taking care of her, still morphed with the old quirks and mannerisms of the wry, grouchy, professor she'd known before. Basically they have this history which binds them and sets a level of comfort and familiarity for them, but they're getting to know, and see, each other as the people that they really are beyond those old labels. _

_Phial vs Vial! I am American, and when I'm thinking of a little glass jar, I spell that word with a V. And I had sort of assumed that the 'PH' version was simply the British spelling for my V word. However, as I was going to be using the word pretty regularly here, I decided to google just to be sure. Turns out, the PH version seems to be for medicine exclusively, while the V spelling can be for medicine OR anything else, like perfumes, etc. So basically for our purposes, either spelling would have been fine (regardless of my place of birth :) but it just 'felt' more appropriate to go with the PH spelling (maybe my mental association with the PH for pharmacies makes it seem more the medical term) so that's what I'm sticking with for the duration._

_They don't really seem to worry about infection like we do. Like" oh damn, someone just hexed my ear off and now I've got a big gaping wound that's going to get infected and then my whole head will fall off too!" No, they just bandage that shit up and go on with their day. So I googled and JK actually wrote a post on "Illness & Disability" for Pottermore. Relevant snippet from her as follows: "I decided that broadly speaking, wizards would have the power to correct or override 'mundane' nature but not 'magical' nature. Therefore, a Wizard could catch anything a muggle might catch, but he could cure all of it." So for myself, (sienna again) I'm picturing their healing spells include something akin to a 'magical antibiotic' that negates even the possibility of a 'mundane' muggle infection being caught. Which is all a roundabout way of justifying why Snape can cover Hermione over with clothes and blankets, like we never would if she was a muggle in a burn ward with the catastrophic injuries she has. _

_In case anyone had been wondering why Snape hadn't used the Dittany yet, that was my personal reasoning on why it wasn't part of her initial healing regiment. I know they're all magical potions so disbelief can be suspended, but it just didn't seem logical for him to apply something created to prevent scarring, when she literally had almost no skin at that point to scar. I also didn't think that he would be fazed by how awful she looks, simply because he's Snape. He's seen everything. Yes, he was horrified by what had happened to her, but he processed that, and he's fixing her, and to him she's still just Miss Granger, so he's treating her as such. _

_I cut a good chunk off the end of this scene and moved it over to Chapter 3 just so that chapter would be in a solid draft form before I posted this one. I don't want to leave myself with any empty spaces in the storyline, because I don't want to get tripped up. So next chapter maybe by New Year's. _

_And again, please keep the feedback coming. It's genuinely helpful in keeping things going knowing that people actually WANT to know what happens next. And I'll try to write back to folks individually but life is difficult right now so please know that not hearing from me personally, doesn't mean that I am not incredibly appreciative of the effort you took to leave a note. I am :)_

_Merry Christmas everyone! _


	3. Hope In The Horror

**Author's Note**: Again, thank you everyone for the feedback and the alerts and faves. Much appreciated :)

Picking up with tea. More obvious bonding, and a bit of the romantic undercurrent cropping up now.

* * *

**Hope In The Horror**

When Snape came back into the room, it was with a dish towel in hand, and tea tray levitating along behind him. The tray he left hovering in mid-air as he leaned over to tuck the towel under Hermione's chin, covering over the top of the blanket.

"Spillage," he murmured to her questioning look. And she gave him a bit of an embarrassed twitch of her lips, "right, the water was an issue wasn't it?"

His expression softened.

"The tremors will subside more and more with each dosage. They're only affecting you so much right now, because there is so much for them to do. As we get to the latter stages of your healing, it will be a matter of cellular fine tuning, so not only will the pain have substantially subsided by then, but the side effects will have as well. Now then . . ."

And he made a swirling motion with his hand . . . even under the circumstances, it was impressive to see his wandless magic . . . and the serving tray circled around him, came down, and hovered low over her chest.

Her brow wrinkled slightly when she looked to the offerings he had prepared for her. There were two cups of tea, a glass of water, and something . . . else.

"What's that in the bowl?" She asked lightly, hoping to keep the concern out of her tone.

It looked awful.

"Oatmeal," Snape responded flatly, while giving Miss Granger an appraising look, "and I am taking from the wrinkle in your nose that you do not like oatmeal."

"What?" Her eyes widened slightly as they snapped up to his, "no, no, of course it's fine. It was very kind of you to make it," her lips set in a bit of a wry grimace as she looked at the brown mush, "and I'm sure it's quite nutritious."

It was a ridiculous thing to be concerned about at such a time, how enjoyable her teatime snacks were, but it was just that it really did look quite disgusting.

Like something that had already been eaten and afterwards regurgitated for another meal.

But then she heard Snape clear his throat, and her gaze shifted back up to his.

"Oatmeal _is_ the most nutritious thing you can ingest at this time," he let out on a heavy, put upon sigh, "but if you finish all of it, you may have a Jammie Dodger as well."

"_You_ buy Jammie Dodgers?" Her raspy voice pitched slightly in surprise, because it just seemed like such an oddly domestic, supremely muggle, item to discover in the kitchen of a former Death Eater.

But then she saw the former Death Eater in question roll his eyes at her while muttering, "Merlin, give me strength." That was followed by a call over his shoulder of, "_Accio_, Jammie Dodgers!"

There was a rattle of a cabinet from the kitchen as it whipped open and snapped close, then a second later the familiar red packet came flying through the open doorway.

Snape caught it with a smack on his palm.

"_Jammie Dodgers!_" he sneered while dangling them over her face. And his response, and the look of complete DISGUST he was giving her(!), was just so insane, that even with everything going on, somehow, Hermione bubbled out a hiccup of laughter.

It had been so long though since she had felt the kind of joy that led her to laugh about ANYTHING, that she was immediately overwhelmed by a sob of despair rising up. And it was so perfectly her life now that any degree of laughter would lead directly to tears.

She tried to cover over her gasp by pretending she was coughing.

Snape was clearly not fooled.

This was obvious in how he winced and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I am sorry for upsetting you," he murmured after a moment, while rubbing his hand across his forehead. "I," he opened his eyes to look at her, "sometimes I find myself still getting defensive about things of little to no consequence. It is not a uh," he let out a heavy sigh, "a flattering character trait."

"No," she sniffled, "it's fine. It's nothing. It's me. Your reaction was very funny, actually, but my stress levels are so elevated that I find it difficult to process emotions normally anymore." She swallowed, "most things lead to tears. I think it would generally be agreed that is also not a," and she gave him a look then, "_flattering_ character trait."

"Well," Snape responded softly while reaching out to place the package of biscuits on the tea tray, "perhaps once we are able to address the larger situation you need to discuss with me, your stress levels will decrease and you will feel able to exert a bit more emotional control. And if you cannot," he straightened up, giving her a kind look, "if you would like, I can teach you some techniques to assist you in covering the gap in what no longer comes easily to you."

For a moment they just looked at once another as she bit down on her lower lip, the one he had just fixed, then she tipped her head.

"I would appreciate that," she answered quietly, her voice heavy with emotion, "thank you."

Having been away from him for so long, Hermione had forgotten about these kinds of tangible benefits that came in having access to Severus Snape. The knowledge he had after the life he'd lived.

He really could help her in ways beyond just this crisis.

"All right then," Snape let out a heavy breath as he reached for the spoon he'd place on the tray, "let us attempt to get some of this slop into you before it transfigures itself into something _truly_ unappetizing."

The last he said while dipping the utensil into the bowl of mush, and he couldn't help but note that Miss Granger's mouth quivered openly for his faint effort at humor. This time a sob did not follow.

Good.

After making her cry twice in less than twelve minutes, he really did owe her a bit of jocularity. In the meantime though, he began carefully feeding her the small bowl of oatmeal. Every other bite he alternated with giving her either a sip of tea or water to help her swallow everything down more easily. It was strange feeding a grown woman in such a fashion, and it unexpectedly brought back memories of the one time he'd fed Draco as a baby. To his surprise, as he dug the spoon back into the mush, he actually murmured that point out loud.

"Oh, I always forget you knew Draco as a baby," Miss Granger exclaimed in surprise. "What was he like then?"

His eyebrow inched up.

"Gassy."

Hearing the faint giggle his answer elicited, brought an unexpected jolt of warmth to Snape's core. So as he leaned in and brought the spoon back to her mouth, he decided to answer her question properly.

"If you are genuinely curious," he continued on, and she gave him a nod as she swallowed, "then I will say that he was an exceptionally kind child."

Noting her look of disbelief, he tipped his head.

"I know, that may not mesh with the boy that you met as a First Year, but by then he had been exposed to too much of Lucius' pureblood nonsense. When he was," he let out a huff, "_gassy_, he was oblivious to the ideologies that would eventually lead to his family's downfall. The Malfoys are many things, but they do genuinely love one another, and when he was small, all Draco knew of the world was that love. His soul was pure then."

Hermione's expression softened.

"That's actually very sweet," she whispered, and then huffed, "too bad Lucius and Narcissa screwed him up later."

"Yes, well," Snape's jaw twitched as his voice faded off, "yes." Then he cleared his throat as he looked back at her.

"That was one of the reasons why I took the Unbreakable Vow," he continued on with a sharp nod, "I mean," he tipped his head while continuing dryly, "there were obviously _many _reasons, but I knew that boy had a pure soul buried in there, so the thought of him making the same mistakes that his father and I had made at his age, grieved me. It was a great vindication to find out later on that he had switched sides before the end." His voice faded.

"I am proud of him."

For a moment there was silence there between them, and that's when Snape realized that he'd been holding an empty spoon in his hand while he bared his innermost thoughts to a woman in a way that he never had before. His face began to get hot.

He was mortified.

Though when he risked a glance through his fringe over to the woman in the bed, he found not the disdain he feared, but an openness there. Her expression was kind.

Then she smiled.

It was sad, but he could see that it was genuine.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," she whispered, "and you're right to be proud of him. I mean for me, and for the boys, being on the side of light was obvious from the beginning. For the boys, everyone they knew and respected was already there. And for me clearly it was a matter of self-preservation. But for Draco, he had to choose to go against everything he knew, and everyone he loved, just to follow his conscience." She tipped her head, "that's admirable."

If anyone had ever told a young Hermione that she would one day be extolling the virtues of Draco Malfoy while Severus Snape spoon fed her a bowl of rapidly congealing oatmeal, she would have thought they'd lost their mind.

Turned out that all that was needed for that turn of events to come to pass, was for her to lose her own.

Her response though had clearly put Snape at ease, which was good, as she saw that flush in his cheeks fade off. It was curious seeing him with that much color, she thought abstractly, he'd always been so pale. At least he looked healthier now than he had when she was in school. Of course not playing a triple agent and getting tortured on a regular basis by the darkest wizard who had ever lived, probably had something to do with that. Still, she thought it best not to comment on his improved appearance, given how likely it was to bring that red hue back to his skin. So after him giving her a slight nod of acknowledgement for her comments on Draco, they continued on with her oatmeal, this time now in silence.

Though it was an amiable one.

Between the water and the tea and the bowl of glue, it took them at least another ten minutes to finish her meal. After he'd given her the last sip of tea . . . he'd barely touched his own . . . he put down her cup, and reached over to pick up the packet of biscuits.

"No," she let out on a slow exhale, "it's okay, thank you, you can see save them for later. I don't think I could um," her nose wrinkled slightly, "well, I don't think I could eat anything else right now. My stomach has probably reduced a bit."

"Let me guess," Snape shot back with a bit of an edge as he dropped the biscuits back on the tray . . . they rattled her empty cup, "you haven't _eaten _in three days either?"

Noting by the embarrassed dip of her head and the murmured, "it's been busy," that his assessment was dead on, he shook his head.

The anger was clear on his face.

"No matter how bad things have been, Miss Granger," his tone was firm and brokered no room for discussion of these points, "you _cannot_ continue to starve yourself. I understand how one can become distracted in times of stress, and end up skipping meals unintentionally, I have done this myself. But I would hazard that you have lost nearly two stone since I last saw you at St. Mungo's. And outside of you having been kidnapped and locked in a cupboard, three DAYS of skipping meals, is clearly intentional. And so long as you are under my wards," he shot her a look, "or seeking my counsel, this type of self-harm will not continue."

Whatever else came of their time together now, this 'suicide by degrees' that she had apparently been practicing, it was coming to an end. If he was going to have to continue to live in this world, he was going to make damn sure that she did too.

And she wasn't going to do it as a walking skeleton.

Noting then how her eyes filled with tears as she gave him a grim nod, he was at least satisfied to see that his point had been made. Then she tipped her chin towards the crinkly red package that he'd dropped back in front of her.

"I think I could manage half a biscuit," she whispered while looking up at him, "if that wouldn't be too much bother to share with me."

"No," he answered with a slow shake of his head . . . the heat had faded from his tone, "it wouldn't be too much bother to share."

It was a compromise, one that he was happy to oblige if it would help to set her on the proper path again. So he tore open the crinkly wrapper and slipped out one biscuit, which he promptly snapped in half.

He made sure most of the jam stayed on the larger side.

The smaller piece he popped into his own mouth, the larger he snapped in half again before feeding Miss Granger the first of those two tinier, crumbly, pieces.

As she began to chew, slowly and deliberately, he found his expression shifting.

"So you see," he said with a quirk of his brow while swallowing his own bite, "it is not so difficult to eat a little more, is it?"

"No," she sniffled and looked up at him with a faintly watery smile, "it's not so difficult. Thank you for reminding me of that fact, and for sharing with me."

"Yes, well," he harrumphed while reaching out to tap his wand on his now cold cup of tea . . . it began to steam again, "a biscuit is a biscuit, and a biscuit should not be refused without good reason."

Hearing a faint huff from the woman in the bed, his eyebrow quirked up.

"Yes?"

And he saw her mouth quiver.

"I'm sorry," she gave him a sheepish smile, though tinged with melancholy, "it's just so different talking to you now, as an adult. You're quite amusing. I only wish," and her smile faded completely, "well, I wish we had reconnected for different reasons."

For a moment he just looked over at her, then he tipped his head.

"To be completely honest Miss Granger," he answered plainly, "if not for the dire circumstances in which you fell back into my life, I'm not sure I would have allowed any reconnection at all."

Her expression softened at that.

"I suppose that's true," she answered with a heavy breath, "so I guess I'll just have to take this as the silver lining on a very dark cloud."

Though Snape had some thoughts on the rarity of finding any silver linings in life, it had not been his experience that they came to men like him, he chose not to share those thoughts aloud. They would serve no purpose. So instead he downed his reheated tea in a few quick gulps . . . he really just wanted it for the caffeine . . . served Miss Granger the last bite of her biscuit with another few sips of water, and they were done.

Finally.

Once he had sent the tray off to the kitchen, and done a light _Evanesco_ to clear the biscuit crumbs and dried oatmeal bits from Miss Granger's mouth and blanket, he pulled the last potion phial from his pocket.

"All right," he pulled out the stopper, "this one should take us to about nine or ten pm depending on how your underlying exhaustion plays into things. Either way," he leaned over to press the phial to her lips, "the timing will line up well with the stronger pain potion I've had brewing. It will be ready by ten, and if you're awake by then, you can have it immediately. If you wake up sooner than that, we'll just get your dinner into you first."

"More oatmeal?" Miss Granger asked with a light quirk of her brow, and his own brow inched up in return.

"Perhaps," he answered flatly, "or perhaps it will be something else. You will have to wait and see."

Seeing the corner of her mouth twitch, Snape shook his head and pulled out his wand to get her resituated on the bed. It took just a few muttered spells and she was once more lying flat on her back with a normal sized pillow under her head. Then he leaned over to fix her blanket properly.

Some things were best done without magic.

"Rest well, Miss Granger," he whispered while tucking the material over her shoulders, "and my earlier instruction stands. If you need me, just scream."

Seeing her nod as she bit back a yawn, it was clear that the sleeping potion was affecting her much more quickly this time. Likely a combination of her pain now being in a much more manageable state for having some level of potion still in her system, and of course her having a full stomach. Digestion could often make one drowsy.

Either way he could see her fading off even as he stood there.

"Please don't go too far, sir," was the last thing she mumbled as her eyes fell shut. His jaw twitched, and though it was not previously in his nature to be so tactile with his affections, he reached up to place his hand on the top of her head with his palm cradling her crown. He left it there for a moment.

He said nothing.

Once he was sure she was out, he stepped back with a sigh. Then he turned and did a quick series of spells first to tidy the room, and then to restock the wood pile by the fireplace from the surplus out in the mud room. And feeling the chill settling into the air, the autumn days were getting shorter, after sending one of the newly stacked logs onto the fire itself, he did an "_Accio_ my quilt," to get the covering off his bed upstairs. When the blanket came flying through the open doorway, he put his hand up to slow the speed before it smacked him in the face.

This time he didn't bother with transfiguring the fabric as it was not intended to be in direct contact with Miss Granger's skin. All he did was give it a spin through the air to stretch it out so it would cover over the blanket she already had on.

Layers were important in warding off a chill.

Again, like last time, the last thing he did before he left her sleeping alone in the room, was to set a charm. This time it was one he'd just realized would ease Miss Granger's communications with him. And seeing then that he'd done all that he could for her, and desperately needing to now know how she could have forgotten to eat for three days, he picked up her wand from where he'd placed it on the edge of the coffee table.

It was time to run a few _Prior Incantantos_.

/*/*/*/

The next time Hermione startled awake, it was to the scent of cloves and amber. Her anxiety immediately lessened as her brain made the connection in her mind.

Snape.

It's what he had always smelled like, but in the past, outside of the occasional life and death incident . . . or a randomly shared meal at Grimmauld Place . . . obviously there was usually a bit more physical distance between them. On this day though, with them being in such close proximity, that smell, combined with the wood smoke from the fire, had become the dominant one filling Hermione's olfactory senses. And she realized that she was smelling it so strongly now, not because the man himself was right next to her, but because she seemed to be covered over in another one of his blankets.

One that he'd used more recently than the transfigured one he had put on her earlier in the day.

The smell was warm and rich, and genuinely a comfort. So much so that she wished that she could lift the fabric up to her face to breathe it in a little more deeply. But . . . she let out a heavy sigh as she looked around the small room lit only by the glow from the crackling fire . . . it probably wasn't a good idea to be rubbing any kind of material on her face just yet. At least not until Snape assured her that she actually had a layer of skin back on there again. Yeah . . . she took another slow breath to push down the fresh panic that came with thinking about her injuries . . . skin would be good. She couldn't wait to have skin again.

She also couldn't wait to have another dose of pain potion, because BLOODY HELL did it feel like she was on fire!

"Sir," she called out with a quiet tension, because she didn't want to be the frightened woman who screamed for him literally every time she woke up. Though to her surprise, though she'd made an effort to speak in a more conversational tone, the word that came out of her mouth sounded like it came from a megaphone.

It was quite loud!

So of course it was just a few seconds later that she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then there was Snape coming through a hidden doorway and into the sitting room.

When he saw the look of surprise she was giving him, he shrugged.

"Amplifying charm," he explained with a wave of his wand to end the spell, "I thought of it after you fell asleep. I figured that way you wouldn't need to strain your vocal chords. They've had enough trauma already today. So now then," his eyes widened with a slight expectation, "on a level of one to ten, how is the pain?"

Her nose wrinkled as she considered her answer . . . then she lied through her teeth.

"Seven point five, maybe, eight."

His eyebrow inched up.

"So that's a nine then?" He asked dryly. And her mouth quivered slightly as she gave him a pained smile.

"Yes," she let out on a relieved huff that she didn't need to put on a brave start for him, "a solid nine . . . ish. Definitely not a ten though," she shook her head, "ten was coming through the fireplace."

"Hmm," he hummed, "yes, well," he pulled a phial from his pocket, "nine_'ish_" he put emphasis on the 'ish, "is certainly bad enough. But fortunately we have the new solution brewed now, and you timed it just right, so," he leaned over, "open up."

So she did, he pressed the phial to her lips, and poured the blue'ish green liquid down her throat.

Unlike most of the potions she'd been drinking, which ranged from tasteless to quite nasty (with no positive stops in between) this one was different.

"Hmm," she exhaled slowly while licking her upper lip, "it actually tastes good. Kind of minty."

"Yes, well," he gave her a wry look, "that would be the mint. It doesn't call for it, but it has no affect on the effectiveness of the potion, and I thought you might like something to offset the taste of the dominant ingredient."

Her eyebrow quirked up.

"What is the dominant ingredient?"

"The excrement from a Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon," he answered flatly, half over his shoulder as he sorted through the other potions in her healing regiment.

She looked at his back for a moment, judged that he was not actually joking, and tipped her head.

"Good call then on the mint, sir."

"Yes," he turned back, raising an eyebrow imperiously, "I thought so as well. Now then," he stepped forward with the now usual (fluid) suspects in clinking hand, "let us continue."

So they did, one after another and with much less difficulty than last time as the damage to Hermione's throat was healing, so she was able to swallow more easily. By the time they reached the end, perhaps three minutes later, and she had passed through the now usual shudders with him holding her fingers, she felt a peculiar, effervescent, feeling suddenly begin to spread throughout her body.

Her toes began to tingle.

"Oh," she let out surprised gasp as her eyes snapped up to Snape's slightly concerned ones – he obviously didn't know what she was gasping about, "that new pain potion is wonderful! Is it . . ."

And she paused for a moment as her brain worked through the sensations she was feeling, then she had it.

"It triggers an endorphin release, doesn't it?!" She asked with a huge grin, because good Merlin, she just felt AMAZING! And she could tell from the slight shifting in Snape's features that he was impressed she had figured it out.

"Very good, Miss Granger," he answered with a tip of his head, "it does indeed trigger an endorphin release. So that in combination with the underlying blocking of the pain sensors, will leave you in a somewhat more euphoric state. For the moment anyway."

"Only for the moment?!" She whinged with a faint pout, "but this as good as I've felt in forever!"

For a second Snape's attention lingered on the sad pout, it was causing him an unexpected twinge of distress. Then he blinked and shook his head to focus.

"I am sorry, Miss Granger," he answered her with genuine regret, "I do wish that element of the potion could last until your body is fully healed, but you can imagine the susceptibility it would have for abuse if such an effect was indefinite. As it is, the tingling sensation will subside shortly, but you should still feel better than you have. You can have another dose in twelve hours, and most likely you'll need one final one to get you to sleep tomorrow night. After that," he gave her an appraising look, "hopefully your body will be mostly your own again."

That was the goal, to have the worst of her injuries healed within seventy-two hours. Given the degree of damage, it was a lofty goal, but she was coming along. Again, he could see the subtle improvements in her features since her last set of dosings. Her limbs, he couldn't judge now that he'd covered her in the dressing gown and gloves, but he had no reason to think everything wasn't progressing at the same pace. In the meanwhile, with her now staring down at her silk covered fingers with a slightly wistful smile, again an expression that caused an unexpected twinge in his gut . . . either he was in digestive distress or he was developing an unexpected attachment, Merlin help him . . . after he'd gotten her sitting up in the bed again, he set about getting her dinner.

Of course as it was now nearly ten, he had eaten his own dinner hours ago, but it had been oddly lonely having the meal without her, even though he had of course been having meals utterly alone for over a year now. But . . . he shot her a look over his shoulder as he left the room . . . it was alarming how easy it had been to get accustomed to having her company, even if he had done all he could to deny her reentry into his life.

He let out a sigh as he entered the kitchen, because he knew that this attachment, whatever it was, was not good for him. Mostly because it could not last. Once she had recovered, and he had helped her with whatever hell forsaken issues which had brought her stumbling through his floo to start, she would be back in her old life again. One where she had friends and a future.

And he would once more be alone.

Still, even with these thoughts in his head as he prepared her meal, he could think only of what would make her happy. Somehow he managed to do it even with the minimal offerings he had in the cabinets . . . he really needed to do a run to the shops . . . and given how he'd decided to cook her meal with magic, (the VERY old fashioned way), he was on his way back into the sitting room not five minutes after he'd left. And when he returned to Miss Granger's bed, and swirled the tray around to hover over her stomach, he found his eyes crinkling at her squeal of delight at what she saw there. It was a grilled cheese, extra cheese, with a side of hot chocolate, two marshmallows.

His wand had been quite helpful in slicing the sandwich into six, bite sized, morsels.

"Oh, but these are my favorites!" She laughed while looking up at him with a warm smile . . . the endorphins clearly had not faded yet, "however did you know?!"

"That summer at Grimmauld Place," he answered with a shrug, "more than once I showed up after a meeting with the Dark Lord, and found you huddled up in the corner of the kitchen with a grilled cheese and a hot chocolate." He gave her a wry look.

"It was clearly your midnight snack of choice."

Her eyes crinkled.

"It was," then her expression softened, "we were all under so much stress then, and it was the only thing that made me feel better when I couldn't sleep." She was quiet for a moment before her lip quirked up again.

"You liked buttered toast with a sprinkle of sugar and cinnamon, and a cup of Earl Grey, splash of cream, spoonful of honey."

Apparently seeing his eyes widen in shock, she let out a slight huff, though there was no amusement in it.

"I remember that summer pretty well too," she answered softly, "you were under more stress than any of us, and I realized after about two weeks of watching you from over my book, that if Molly didn't think to leave you a plate of food, that was what you made for yourself. After that, I always made sure there was a fresh loaf of bread out on the table for when you came out of your meetings with Dumbledore."

Feeling a jolt of something in his chest, Snape looked down at her in wonder.

"That was you?" He whispered in astonishment, "I thought it was Kreacher, though saying it out loud it really makes no sense that he would do such a thing."

"No," her lips curved in a faint smile, "it was me. Molly would bake bread in the mornings, and I'd always steal a loaf and hide it to make sure there would be one left for you. Back then, you remember, there wasn't much I was allowed to do to help with the war effort, so I figured that was the one way I could make myself useful."

Of course to be REALLY useful, she could have made him the snack herself, but given how he was her professor, and she had been very much underage, it would have been a little odd if she'd been THAT attentive to his emotional needs. Not to mention, Sirius would have nettled him mercilessly if he'd ever found out.

No, simply leaving him the loaf of bread (in secret) had been the best compromise.

And she could see in the appearance of a faint, unexpected, sheen in his eyes, (one which he quickly blinked away) that her giving him this information now, had touched him. Deeply.

Then he reached over and put his hand on the back of her head. His voice was thick when he spoke.

"Thank you," he whispered with a gentle rub of her scalp, "that was, that was most kind."

For almost two full months, that fresh loaf of bread had been sitting there on the same chipped blue plate, waiting for him after every one of his meetings with Dumbledore. Every meeting where he'd had to recount whatever horrible things that he'd seen or heard (or had done to him) at the Dark Lord's side, and then had been given another horrible counter instruction from his other master. All he'd want then was his cup of Earl Grey to settle his nerves, and that damned cinnamon toast to settle his soul. The toast was something that his mother had made for him when he was a boy, but only when he was sick.

It was something that made him feel better.

Not that Miss Granger had any way of knowing that, nor did he have any intention of telling her about that part of his childhood now. It would be a little too much baring of his soul for one lifetime. The fact that her revelation had touched him so deeply, and obviously, was enough exposure for this day. So with a final, gentle, stroke of his fingers along her scalp, he pulled his hand away. And then, though he could clearly see Miss Granger looking at him like she wanted to say something more, he pulled her tray closer.

He cleared his throat.

"Time to eat."

/*/*/*/

Hermione's dinner passed in silence, with Snape feeding her as slowly and carefully, as he had that afternoon with her lunch. And because he had made such an effort to make a meal that she would actually enjoy . . . no more of that hideous oatmeal . . . she made herself eat every crumb that he brought to her lips, even though she was feeling rather full at least three bites, and four sips, before the end. But he was right about the reasons behind her weight loss. Yes, she had been punishing herself for the horrible things she had done. It wasn't the way to fix her mistakes though. There might not be a way to properly fix them, and she would deal with that devastation if it came to pass, but in the meantime, she was still holding onto her hope that Snape would be able to help. Her expression softened as he gently dabbed away a drip of cocoa from her chin.

At least she knew he would try.

After Snape had cleared away Miss Granger's tray with a wave, he stood back and looked down at her.

"Are you ready for the sleeping draught?"

Though she had barely been awake maybe ninety minutes of the last twelve hours, he knew that sleep was still the best thing for her.

Even if he wouldn't have minded having her company for a bit longer.

But then he saw her nose twitch in response to his question about the sleeping draught, right before she cleared her throat.

"Um, actually I need to use the bathroom first."

His lips pursed . . . damn, he had hoped they wouldn't have to deal with this until the morning.

"And how is your _wandless_ magic?" He asked with a quirk of his brow.

"My wandless . . . oh."

Hermione trailed off as she realized what he was saying. She took a breath and looked back up at him.

"Not nearly as good as yours, I'm sure, but I think I can manage the spell if you can just help me get down there and back."

"I will cast another _Mobilicorpus_," he answered with a firm nod as he started to pull out his wand, "that will be the easiest way." But she quickly shook her head.

"Oh, no," her brow furrowed nervously, "please don't, sir. Losing complete control over my body is," she swallowed, "upsetting. Especially well," she made a gesture to her chest, "now. I know it'll be a pain for you, but please, if you can just help me walk down there?"

For a moment he just stared back, his jaw twitching as he clearly considered the potential for disaster in her attempting to navigate her way down the hall and back again, with a toilet stop in between. Finally he let out a heavy sigh.

"All right," he nodded, "if you are uncomfortable with that spell, then I promise I will not use it again outside of a dire emergency. Your plan to walk there though," he shook his head slowly, "even with assistance, that will not work. You haven't even stood in over twelve hours. Your muscles are taxed, your body is weakened, you are exhausted, undernourished, and if you fall, as I am sure you will, it would be disastrous." His lips pursed slightly as he looked her over.

"I will carry you."

Hermione's mouth opened . . . and then closed, because of course when he laid it all out like that, it was the only logical course of action. It was clearly another serious imposition, and incursion, into his personal space though. So much so, that she felt a pang of genuine regret when he reached out to pull back her blankets.

"I know this way is much more of an imposition for you, sir," she murmured as he cast the spell to help her sit up, "but _Mobilicorpus_ just reminds me of something that happened during the war."

His eyes came up then to lock onto hers.

"You do not have to justify your discomfort," he answered softly, but firmly, "you said it upsets you, that is enough for me to promise not to use it again. Now then," he took a breath, "obviously we will need to be careful in regards to your injuries but, if you keep your hands tucked, that should be enough to ensure you don't catch them on the doorjambs."

"Right," she took her own breath, as he used another wandless spell to swing her legs around so they were dangling off the side of her bed.

For a moment he paused then, and thinking that perhaps he wanted her to do a bit of the work here herself . . . she was the one that needed to use the toilet after all . . . Hermione tried to simply wriggle forward on her bum so she could get to the edge of the mattress.

All she really ended up doing was bunching up her nightshirt.

And as soon as he realized what she was doing, Snape immediately hissed out a, "no!" as his hands fell to her bare thighs, pinning her in place, "be still! If you fall, you can't brace yourself!"

"Oh," she froze with a gasp, picturing the disaster that would have happened if she'd slid too far and hit the floor before he could catch her, "right. Stupid."

That was the point where they both realized where his hands were, and he quickly snatched them away with a faint growl. And before she could say anything, though she wasn't sure what it was she could say anyway because that one was her fault, not his, he was leaning back over to tug the soft black fabric over her knees again. Then with a heavy sigh, he stooped down and slid one arm under her now recovered legs, and the other arm around her back. And with a murmured, "watch your hands," he gently lifted her up from the bed, and tucked her against his chest.

For a moment he just held her close. His body was warm, and his arms felt surprisingly strong and muscular given his frame. It was all that cauldron lifting . . . she realized suddenly . . . he must be wiry. Another few seconds passed with her distracted by the thought of the surprising physique he'd apparently been hiding under those robes. Then she felt him let out a heavy breath as he murmured, "are you all right?" And she felt her breath catching at the tenor of his voice. Not to mention with his body that close, his hair was brushing her good ear, tickling the skin.

It was doing peculiar things to her stomach.

Still, the man had asked a question, and telling him that he was doing peculiar things to her stomach didn't seem to be the best answer to give. Not if she wanted to ever make eye contact with him again. So instead she just let out a soft, "yes, I'm okay. No pain."

Pain was probably the thing he was asking about, so it seemed the logical answer to give. Apparently it was, because then he murmured a, "good, then mind the doorways."

He started them across the room.

On any other day it might have seemed strange for Snape to be carrying her around this way, but today, it wasn't. Everything that he'd been doing to care for her, feeding her, brushing his fingers through her hair, it just seemed normal.

That was a thought to examine at a different time.

This moment would actually have been less awkward though, physically, if she'd just been able to put her hands on him to help keep herself steady in his arms. But her fingers clearly were not healed enough to allow such a thing. So instead she just kept them curled close to her stomach as Snape slowly walked her across the room and out into the front hall.

She'd never been in his house before, and had seen nothing of it outside of the sitting room, so this area was new. The only furniture present was a single, small, wooden table by what seemed to be the front door. It was the place where someone would keep their keys in a normal muggle household, so it came as some surprise to Hermione to realize that though this was a magical household, there was clearly a set of keys sitting there on that table.

She made a mental note to ask him about them later.

So the keys were normal, but it did sadden her to see how the clearly once pretty, blue flowered wallpaper running the length of that hall, was so obviously stained and faded now. Though it did at least seem to go with the half dozen or so muggle family portraits hanging on the paper.

The people in them looked stained and faded too.

"There's a half bath down here on the right," Snape explained quietly, "and a full bath upstairs to the left."

"Okay," she answered in the same pitch, careful to keep her sad thoughts about the state of his home out of her tone, "good to know for when I can do this myself."

When they reached the bathroom door he'd indicated a moment earlier, Snape shook his wand from his sleeve and with his 'free' hand (the one around her back) he waved it towards the closed door with an, "_Evanesco._"

Obviously noting her look of confusion, he tipped his head.

"The mirror."

Then he bit his lip and his features twisted as he looked down at her.

"Are you truly certain your wandless is up to this?" He asked with clear concern. "You know you have to keep your balance while maneuvering the nightshirt and your underwear before you even get to the urination."

Though in principle discussing her 'urination' with Snape should have been at least somewhat awkward, given Hermione's larger issues at the moment, like her hands still missing most of their skin, this one didn't really rate high on her concerns at the moment. So rather than getting embarrassed, like she would have as a teen, instead she just lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

"Well," she bit her lip as she looked back and forth between Snape and the closed door, "I have to go, so I'm going to have to make it work somehow."

Then she focused back in on the way his jaw was twitching.

"Did you have a suggestion for me on how to manage this?" She asked with a quirk of her brow, "because it looks like you have something else to say."

His cheeks began to redden at her question.

"Well," he offered hesitantly, while giving her only a half glance, "I could deal with your clothing, and then all you would need to do was handle the cleansing spell."

Hermione was about to ask what he meant by "deal," when she suddenly realized from the way he was very particularly avoiding her gaze by staring at the floor, that he meant he could vanish all of her remaining clothing.

Basically she'd be asking Snape to strip her naked.

And thinking about it in that light, circumstances notwithstanding, caused that funny feeling to come back to her stomach again. It was absolutely ridiculous though to be having such thoughts at the moment, but in her haste to refocus her brain, and come up with literally ANY other plan of action outside of that one where he took all of her clothes off, she ended up blurting out the first alternate thought that popped into her head.

"Maybe you could put my wand in my mouth and I could cast the spell myself?"

The words had no sooner passed her lips, than Hermione realized how absolutely IDIOTIC they sounded out loud! And then seeing Snape's look of disgust at her suggestion, something akin to him pulling on a tutu to go strolling down Knockturn Alley, she immediately shook her head.

"Of course no," she blushed as her eyes fell away from his, "that was very stupid. That would not work."

"No," Snape spoke slowly, as though she were a dimwitted child, "no, it would not work. You cannot wave your wand with your _mouth_, Miss Granger, that is," he closed his eyes and shook his head, "no."

He must have given her too much of the new pain potion, that was all that could explain it. Either that or she'd completely lost her mind. And the trip down the hall from the sitting room was a little short for that to have happened on the way to the toilet.

Hermione bit her lip as she looked back to the man shaking his head at her from mere inches away.

All right yes, that was a complete dunderhead thing to say, but at least it had knocked the idiocy out of her brain. She had to pee, and he was going to have to help her do it, and that was all there was to it. And they really did need to get on with it, because not only was that pressure on her bladder increasing, but she was also beginning to get very tired again.

That endorphin release was definitely as short lived as advertised.

At the moment all she wanted to do was tip her head down and rest it against Snape's shoulder, but for many reasons, that very much did not seem like it would be a good idea. So instead she took a breath and let it out.

"Your plan makes the most sense," she stated quietly, "but can you do it through a closed door? Or do you have to be in there with me?"

Snape's expression shifted from the lingering bewilderment at her bizarre mouth/wand suggestion, to one of surprise at her new question.

"Oh no," he shook his head, "I can cast the vanishing spell through the door. But," he gave her a look, "I will need to come in to redress you. I will of course avert my eyes, but even my magic is not so precise as to work such a particular task without being in close proximity." His eyebrow quirked up.

"Will that be acceptable?"

As soon as he asked the question, in his perfectly Snape way, Hermione's minor discomfort with the situation, was immediately washed away. He was just so . . . her eyes crinkled faintly . . . proper. And it was a reminder that she trusted him not only to safeguard her privacy, but also her dignity.

He would make sure that they did this in a way that she wasn't embarrassed.

So she gave him a faint smile as she nodded.

"Quite acceptable, thank you. So whenever you're ready."

He tipped his head.

"Very well."

Then he took a breath, and with the hand he had wrapped around her back, he reached out to turn the knob to the bathroom door. As she was expecting, the mirror over the sink had been blackened, and there were no other reflective surfaces in sight. In fact, as it was only a half bath . . . put in at least a half century ago, if the state of the facilities were anything to go by . . . there was just the toilet and sink.

Not even a window.

Just as well, she thought with a touch of melancholy, she might have caught a glimpse of herself in the glass. In the meantime though, as Snape stepped forward and very carefully . . . while keeping her body close to his . . . began to lower her to the floor with the murmured instruction of, "brace your legs," she immediately refocused her thoughts on the matter at hand.

Standing upright.

Unfortunately, the tiles of the bathroom were ice cold even through her fuzzy socks. She could feel her toes curling up, which was really not at all helpful given how she was trying to keep her balance with already wobbly legs. And as she felt Snape's arms slide down from her shoulders to her lower back, as though he was about to step away, she felt a burst of panic.

"I'm going to fall!" She gasped, half into his throat

"No," he stated emphatically, while letting the hand on her side, slide around to her lower back, holding her steady, "you will _not_ fall. I will not let you. I'm not letting go, not until you tell me. Just give your body a moment to adjust."

"It doesn't feel like it's going to adjust," she muttered nervously, wishing so badly that she could just reach out and grab onto his robes to keep herself anchored, "it feels like someone hexed me with jelly legs," she bit her lip, "they won't stop quaking."

It was a scary feeling to not be able to keep her own balance, but worse still to not even have the use of her hands to hold herself steady. But then she realized that she already _was_ steady. Not by herself of course, but just with how closely Snape was still holding her. So closely that she was basically folded into his robes. His chest was pressed against her breasts and there was the tickle of his long hair, brushing lightly over her ear.

That funny feeling came back to her stomach.

Then he moved the hand on her shoulder, up, to cradle the back of her head. He began to rub her neck, under her hair. Her eyes closed as she let out a soft sigh.

It felt really nice, and it was definitely helping with her stress.

After a few moments though, she realized that there was tingling sensation beginning to spread out from where his fingertips were touching her skin. This time she knew it wasn't the pain potion.

"Oh," her eyes popped as she gasped against his throat, "is that your magic?!"

"Yes," Snape answered softly while pressing his fingertips a little more firmly into the pressure points on the back of her neck, "when you mentioned jelly legs, I was thinking that if only it was a jinx, I could fix that with my magic, and then it occurred to me that as you were already so close, that I could maybe fix your problem with my magic either way. Just a," he took a breath to focus his efforts, "little boost, one to help you over these next few minutes."

This was the first time that he had shared his magic with anyone before, and he hadn't known what it would feel like. It was interesting. Not just the tingling feeling in his fingertips, but the sensation of actually touching Miss Granger's magic, and knowing that her magic was _her_, he could feel how wounded she was. And not just from the physical injuries that she had suffered. Her soul was hurt too, and it pained him, deeply, to feel that damage there.

So he tried to fix it.

Hermione again closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations of warmth and safety that were filling her. And those sensations were coming not just externally, from having his arms around her, but internally as well. She could FEEL the glow of Snape's magic moving through her. It was a true entity, washing over every inch of her. It was steadying not only her nerves, and allaying her fears, but also giving her a physical strength that she hadn't felt in some time. The quivering in her legs subsided. The panic she had about falling was suddenly gone.

For just a second, for the first time in forever, all of her worries were gone.

Her eyes popped open then and she looked up to give him a warm, soft, smile.

"This is amazing," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "thank you."

His jaw twitched.

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, somewhat amazed himself that his efforts to help her feel better had actually worked, "you are welcome, but do you feel any _stronger_? That was my hope here."

His hope was actually that not only would she be physically strong enough to move around, but that this small boost of magic would assist her in the wandless spell she would need to do on her own.

"Oh yes," she nodded and took a breath, straightening her back a bit, "definitely. It's funny actually," she looked down at her hands, "I can feel it running into my fingers too. I wonder," she bit her lip, for a moment considering trying to flex them, "I wonder if it will help them heal faster."

"I do not know," Snape answered honestly while also staring down at her covered fingers tucked between them, "but," he looked back up to her hopeful face, "it is possible." Then he shrugged, "we will have to see how it goes. Now then, if you are steady," he phrased the question as rhetorical, and she immediately nodded, "I am going to step out. After I close the door, I will vanish your remaining clothing and once you are done," he made a gesture to the toilet behind her, "with whatever you need to do, just call out and I will come back in and redress you, all right?"

"Yes," she nodded quickly, anxious now just to get this part done while she was feeling so good.

So they moved through the steps. He pulled away, slowly, and once she'd given him the nod that her legs were still okay, he gave her a nod, and turned away with a swirl of his robes. He was gone, the door had fallen shut and all of her clothes had disappeared . . . except for the gloves, because he remembered her fears even then . . . before she'd even blinked.

Her nipples immediately popped to attention at the sudden loss of warmth, because again, the room was freezing cold, which was all the more reason to get this task over and done. And with that, now left in simply those gloves and her stocking feet, she turned and shuffled . . . no matter how good she was feeling it seemed safer than walking . . . over to the toilet, and after taking a deep breath to brace her core muscles, she turned and lowered herself down.

It was stupid, but she'd never realized how much she'd taken for granted in having the free use of her arms and hands simply as counterbalance in how she moved in the world. Luckily though, once she was sitting, biology took care of itself. Then came the difficult part.

The cleansing spell.

Once upon a time, her wandless magic had been quite good, she'd actually practiced at it in third year once she'd realized how proficient both Snape and Dumbledore were with even complicated spells cast in that fashion. She'd become pretty proficient with complicated spells herself. But then a few months ago she'd tried to _Accio_ her teacup with just a wave of her fingers and it had crashed to the floor of her lab. It had happened three more times before she'd finally accepted that her body had simply become too run down to conduct spells in that manner any longer.

She just didn't have the physical strength.

So it had been at least four months since she'd cast any spell without a wand. And for just a moment, she was afraid she still wasn't up to it, because when she cast the _Evanesco _. . . nothing happened. There was no sensation at all. A flash of panic started to spark that she was going to have to ask Snape to do THIS part for her as well.

Which really would just be too much embarrassment for one day.

But then thinking of Snape, she realized that she could focus in on his magic instead of her own, because she could feel it still swirling there in her body. So she closed her eyes, and ignoring all of her instincts to cast from her own core magic, sent a spell through those swirls that she could feel from his. Quickly, before she lost it.

Or the universe figured out what she was trying to do.

And it worked! Her face lit up with surprise and delight as she was suddenly clean! It was such a silly thing really to get so excited about, except it wasn't. Because she'd been able to take care of it without his help. Well . . . she let out a faint huff . . . at least without him _knowing_ that he'd helped. The point though, was that she was done, and now she could get her clothes back. So she took another breath to brace those core muscles and came back to her feet. Then she shuffled herself over to the middle of the gleaming white bathroom . . . it might have been old, but everything was spotless . . . and called out, "sir! I'm done! You can come in now."

Again, the door was opening in a flash, and with a wave of his wand she felt her pants suddenly covering her again. The nightshirt followed a split second later, even before Snape had gotten the questions rapid fire out of his mouth.

"You are all right?! You didn't fall?!"

The worry was clear in his tone as his eyes locked onto to hers, and it touched her. So she immediately answered with a shake of her head, and a faint smile.

"No, no, I'm fine. I was just fine. And I was able to do the wandless with that little boost you gave me, so thank you again. Actually . . ."

And she didn't know what possessed her but suddenly she turned then, and without a thought, cast another wandless spell. That time to flush the toilet.

That time she nearly hit the hard tile floor.

It was only Snape's startled yell of, "_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!" that kept her from cracking her skull. And even as she felt her whole body freezing up, her head half a inch off the ground, he was diving down to catch her the old fashioned way.

The movements were pretty much neck and neck.

As he pulled her back into his arms, they both slumped to the floor and he released her from the freezing spell with an angry hiss. Even as she was trying to catch her breath, because bloody hell she had NOT expected that to happen(!), Snape shot her a thunderous scowl.

"YOU BLEW OUT YOUR LAST BIT OF MAGIC TO FLUSH THE TOILET?! ARE YOU MAD?!"

His voice was as thunderous as the scowl, and his anger was quite clearly genuine, but somehow, it didn't frighten her. Not at bit. Maybe it was the fact that even though he was screaming, he was rubbing her back while cradling her in almost a rocking motion. Not to mention, she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her chest. And that's when she realized . . . she'd frightened him.

He wasn't really angry at her. He was scared that she'd nearly done a Humpty Dumpty right there in front of him.

All just so she could flush the toilet.

So though she was at that point on the verge of genuinely passing out, somehow she managed to lift one of her gloves hands. She let it brush lightly through his hair so she could see his face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with a sad smile as her hand fell back down between them, "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't realize that would happen, or I never would have done it."

For a moment he just blinked, clearly in shock that not only had she touched his hair, but that she'd seemed to understand EXACTLY why it was that he was so upset. And as her eyes started to fall shut . . . she was definitely passing out . . . she felt him bring his hand up to the back of her neck. Then she heard him take a deep breath as he pressed his lips to her good ear.

"Miss Granger," he sighed, "whatever am I going to do with you?"

There was so much unexpected sadness in his tone, that she felt her heart suddenly ache with their shared, internal, misery. So even though she had no strength left, somehow she was able to slide her hand up to his chest. Gently, so gently, she let her covered palm settle over his heart.

She said nothing.

After a brief pause, she heard him let out another sigh, though this one was not so heavy.

"It is all right, witch," he whispered with a brush of his fingertips along her neck, "go to sleep. I will put you back to bed, and be there when you wake up."

That was all she needed, forgiveness, acceptance . . . and reassurance. So she let out her own sigh. Hers was one of relief.

Then she passed out.

* * *

_A/N 2: As I have a tendency to do with new stories, each chapter gets longer and longer. This was over ten thousand words before we got to the notes, but at least it only took about a week to pull together. _

_Clearly, a bit of 'fluttering' on both sides, but (and I know this is clearly not a new concept here) the summer at Grimmauld Place was a good bonding point for them. It was just a little tricky to make it not 'gross' because she was just a kid then so I didn't want either of them to have any feelings for the other at that point, but simply for them to both realize that the other had noticed them back even then as a real person, in ways that nobody else around them ever seemed to do._

_Jammie Dodgers! It seems like a random muggle treat that Snape would have enjoyed as a kid, and it was an opportunity to introduce a bit of humor to their interactions. They clearly can't have much fun 'banter' in this story, as there is this terrible undercurrent, but they can have a few lighter moments in their bonding, and it was nice to give Hermione the special pain potion so she could actually smile and be genuinely happy for six or seven minutes. And him sharing his magic with her, also I know not a new concept in general for this ship, but I wanted to try it here because it just seemed logical that if you had a way of boosting someone else's magical strength so they could perform a task, that you would do it. _

_Next time, we will finally get to Hermione's big confession and more to the meat of the plot. I hadn't planned for three full chapters (so far) really just on her initial recovery stages, but that's what happens with these things. Scenes expand out from the drafts as they start talking and yada yada, they take on a mind of their own :) _

_Thanks all, and please do review if you can!_


	4. Exquisite Flaws

**Author's Note: ** We're back! And again, thanks for all of the support and interest here, as I've said, it's helping to keep my brain focused :) I also had a very nice note on the last chapter that Petrificus Totalis would be a more appropriate spell for Snape to use when catching Hermione, and the reader was absolutely right. So thank you, I'll be making that edit :)

To that point, there are SO many spells and potions and incantations from canon (and fanon) to wade through when writing essentially a foreign language, that sometimes the one your brain latches onto, though it isn't exactly wrong, it isn't always the most 'correct' either. Again, writing those parts feels like writing a language that you don't speak natively, and that's exactly what happens in RL. I'd made myself a cheat sheet before I started, and I do try to google each spell again before I add it in here, but getting fluent in a second language takes time and practice. We'll get there :)

So to this chapter, it ended up being more of a warm fuzzies thing than planned. More at the end.

Direct continuation.

* * *

**Exquisite Flaws**

Snape carefully carried the sleeping Miss Granger down the hall and placed her back into her bed. After he'd brushed the loose tendrils of hair away from her face, and covered her over again with his blankets, for a moment he stood there by her side, thinking about that moment when her skull had nearly cracked down onto the bathroom floor.

Just the thought set a pit back into his stomach.

Not only the mental image of her blood spilling out onto that unforgiving white tile, but with the injuries she'd already suffered, he knew that a head trauma would have been too much for her poor body to handle. Her recovery would have been set back by days, if not weeks. Now to mention, with another substantial injury, it likely would have become near impossible to keep her on the regimented potion cycle he had her on now.

In short, her falling in that bathroom would have been an absolute disaster.

And thinking about her being so debilitated, possibly for an indefinite period, he found his hand reaching out to touch her again just as he had when he was holding her on the floor. This time though, with her injuries and their respective positions, he was restricted to just taking her fingers.

Those two on the end.

As he gave them a light, reassuring, squeeze, careful to avoid placing any pressure on the rest of her hand, he was reminded of the additional step he wished to add into her healing regiment . . . The Dittany. Although he stood by his reasoning in not applying any to date, there had been no point in it, he still had his concerns about the exact stage in which the herb would do her the most good.

Also, if it would indeed completely prevent any scars from forming after such catastrophic injuries.

To that end though, Snape did note that for the third round of potions she'd ingested that evening, Miss Granger's appearance had again improved, even from where she'd been that afternoon. Of course by any objective standard . . . his lips pursed . . . she still did not look, 'good.' The burns, though no longer raw and glistening, thank Merlin, had not healed ANYWHERE near to the point where he would allow her access to a mirror. They were at least another thirty-six hours out from there. Then noting a particularly bad indentation on her cheek where the flesh had yet to grow back, he bit down a sigh. Well, thirty-six hours might still be a bit optimistic.

Perhaps forty-eight.

Standing here and staring at her like this though, he rolled his eyes while gently disentangling their fingers, it was rather ridiculous. He could not heal her simply by . . . he sneered . . . _positive thinking_. That was muggle nonsense right there. So with no more to be done for his Miss Granger on that evening, Snape took out his wand and did a lockdown of the house wards.

Though his home was quite secure in the daytime, it was utterly impenetrable at night. Not even a floo request would come through while he was asleep. If anyone wished to speak to him, that person would have to physically show up outside the house and knock on his front door.

And even then of course it was unlikely he would allow them access to his home.

Regardless, as Miss Granger's arrival that morning had fulfilled his 'visitation list' for the entire year to date, he was clearly not expecting any additional company on that night. So with the wards locked, and knowing that he had no intention at all of leaving this woman alone for the next seven to nine hours, Snape turned around to deal with the matter of where he was going to sleep. Of course he had a bed upstairs, but there was also a perfectly serviceable reading chair right here in front of him. And once he had levitated it to the other side of the room . . . to give himself a little more space . . . he transfigured it into a regulation length sleeping cot.

Similar to the kind one would find as standard issue in a magical tent.

Then with a few quietly muttered "_Accios_" he had his pillow and mid-weight blanket retrieved from his bedroom. Miss Granger was still using his heavier quilt, but given how he would be sleeping by the fire, he would not need that second layer. He did have a few concerns about _her_ potentially needing another blanket though . . . with them so far north, the temperatures were dipping quite low overnight, and it was clear she was susceptible to the cold . . . so he decided to set a charm on the woodpile. Once he was done with the incantation, the pile was set to send a log to the fireplace every hour on the hour, until six am. That would be more than sufficient to keep Miss Granger warm enough until morning.

Hopefully anyway.

But with that now taken care of, he removed his outer robe, then the frock coat underneath and finally his boots and socks. The latter items were set down on the carpet by Miss Granger's trainers, the former items were banished out to the hooks in the front closet. For his dress shirt, he simply un-tucked it, and undid the top two buttons of the collar. Then as he always did before bed, Snape ran his index finger lightly over the scar on his throat. It was just his daily reminder to himself.

He was lucky to be alive.

It was especially lucky today, because if he hadn't been alive, then who would Miss Granger have gone to for help after her accident? Just considering the limited possibilities, and the likely substandard level of care she would have received from almost any other wizard or witch, St. Mungo's be damned, sent a veritable chill down his spine. And with that not all cheery thought weighing on him as a last rumination before bed, he tucked his wand under his pillow and climbed up onto his cot. After he'd tugged the blanket over his body and tucked his hair back behind his ear, he spared the sleeping woman across the room another long, searching, look. Finally he let out a sigh.

"Sleep well, Miss Granger."

The words were barely a whisper, and the last ones he spoke before closing his eyes.

When he awoke again, it was with a start.

This was not unusual given the life that he had led. His dreams on most nights were generally quite upsetting, if not downright horrifying. On this night thought, over and over he'd had to see Miss Granger in that moment of her writhing in agony when she'd first fallen into his sitting room. It was not an image he'd wanted to add into his already expansive, evolving, catalog of nightmares, but it was no surprise really that it had happened.

Some days the bad things were all that he could remember of his life.

Now that he was awake though, even if it was still dark in the room, he knew his sleep for the night was finished. He couldn't go back to seeing her like that again. And as he sat up in the cot, lightly scrubbing his fingers through his hair to massage his scalp, he cast a tempus to take note of the time.

_Five forty-seven am. _

Hmph . . . he grunted to himself . . . not too bad. Given how physically (and emotionally) exhausting yesterday had been, he'd been hoping for at least seven hours of sleep, but six and a half wasn't too bad. Certainly he'd survived on much less during the war.

As he sat up, biting down a yawn into the back of his hand, he looked across the room at his house guest clearly visible in the glow from the crackling fire. His eyes actually widened in surprise, and delight, at the sight of her.

Her appearance was REMARKABLY improved!

Still not good . . . he slowly swung his legs around and brought himself up to his feet . . . not yet, but it did seem that the underlying structural issues which had been so troubling him, i.e. the burned away muscle and tissue in her face, had very unexpectedly re-grown in the night. There were also a few tiny spots of skin on her face that appeared almost normal in hue. Those patches were VERY small, but they absolutely were not there when he'd put her to bed, and he had not been expecting any such improvements to show up before that evening. It made him wonder if perhaps there was some validity to Miss Granger's theory about the potential healing effects in him sharing his magic with her.

If perhaps that is what had facilitated these unexpected improvements he was seeing.

All he had was this anecdotal evidence, and using the word "evidence" was obviously quite a stretch here, but if there was ANY possibility at all that there was a true correlation between that act and this result, it could not be ignored. So he decided then that he would propose to Miss Granger that they conduct another session of magic sharing as soon as possible. The fact that he had also found an unexpected degree of contentment in the intimacy of that process played no part in his decision to make this offer.

He was thinking only of what was best for the witch.

And as he walked across the room, squinting slightly as he attempted to memorize the exact locations of those miniscule improvements in her features, he could not help but note that they were coming soon to the point in her recovery where they would need to address the one area that he had not addressed yet at all.

Her burnt away hair.

Yesterday of course when her flesh was weeping, such a simple aesthetic hadn't been an issue even worthy of his passing consideration. But now, likely within the next twenty-four hours, she would have a newborn layer of skin cells covering over much of the currently damaged areas. And those newborn skin cells would quite notably be bare of the tiny hairs which would ordinarily go with them. Not to mention, there was also the matter of her half missing eyebrow and the withered lashes.

Those needed to be fixed as well.

So he made a mental note to start preparing the hair re-growth potion after breakfast. That way he could be sure it would be ready for her tomorrow. Two doses would probably cover all that needed to be done, though the hair that was actually on her _head_ . . . his brow wrinkled as he reached over to run his fingers through the longer locks, the ones that were still left on the side . . . that was a bit of a lost cause. Her hair in the back was all right, normal in look and texture that is, he'd seen that when he was holding her. But the hair in the front and on the sides, she had entire clumps burned away in those areas, and all of the hair that was left framing her face, was crispy and brittle. His brow wrinkled as he rubbed one of the crispier pieces between his thumb and index finger . . . the strands began to disintegrate at his touch.

No . . . he shook his head slowly . . . no, re-growth potion could ever fix this kind of damage.

"Sir?"

Hearing the sleepy voice suddenly coming to consciousness, Snape immediately dropped the lock of hair he was holding, and took a slightly startled, half step back.

"Ah," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "you are awake. Apologies if that was my fault, I was just looking at your hair, and thinking about what needs to be done with it."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh," she answered on a yawn into her covered arm, trying to focus, "is it bad?"

"Yes," Snape made a general sweeping motion towards her face, "there are chunks here that have burned away, and that type of aesthetic damage cannot be fixed with a potion. If you wish for it to look normal again," he gave her a look, "it will need to be cut."

Hermione looked up at him and blinked again . . . this wasn't a conversation she was expecting to have ten seconds after she'd woken up. Still though, whatever he thought was best. So she answered him on another half yawn that she covered over with the back of a silk covered hand.

"Okay," she nodded and swallowed, "that's fine. You can cut it, if that's what you think is best."

Snape's eyes widened in surprise.

"I do not know any COSMETIC charms!" He sputtered while crossing his arms at his chest, and she shot him a wry look.

"Well, do you think _I_ do?" She asked with a confused huff, "everything I knew about that nonsense I learned from Lavender, and I scourgified all of that from my brain years ago to make room for more useful knowledge."

"Well, today it seems like that knowledge would be useful to have, yes?" He asked sarcastically, and when she shot him back her half an eyebrow and a dry, sleepy, "indeed," he found his lips actually twitching.

It was most disconcerting!

Because really, the woman was beginning to do things to his emotional control, that he was not entirely sure how to handle. For the moment though, he just caught the twitch of his lips before she noticed it, and then a thought (memory) suddenly popped into his head, and he shot her a triumphant eyebrow of his own.

"There is a book!"

And he was so pleased to remember that this book existed, and would cover over the exact knowledge deficit the two of them shared, without another word, and though this was not at all how he had planned to spend the first waking moments of his day, he immediately spun around and hurried over to the first of the two floor to ceiling bookshelves lining the opposite wall.

_It was in here somewhere!_

"Wait," Hermione coughed out as she tried to push herself slightly up the bed . . . all she did was flop herself half off her pillow, "_you_ have books on cosmetic charms? Also, sir," she called out with a slightly pained grimace, "can you please help me sit up?"

"What?" Snape turned back, realized what she'd said, and that she was now positioned rather awkwardly splayed out on the mattress, and immediately winced at his idiocy.

"Oh, Miss Granger," he groaned while hurrying back over to her side, "I do apologize. I got distracted by our conversation. Here let me . . ."

And he began to perform their usual routine, which included the charmed engorgement of her pillow and then shifting her by a combination of touch and spell so that she was sitting up properly on the bed. Once she was steady, he went over to get a phial of pain potion off the coffee table.

When he saw her pout at the color of the liquid, he bit his lip, because seeing her unhappy had now become a point of distress for him.

That development alone was a point of distress for HIM!

"I know," he murmured over to her while pulling off the topper, "it is not the new one, but it is too soon for your next dose there. You can have it at ten. In the meantime, this should help."

As she swallowed down the standard pain potion, he explained how she would not be taking the rest of her healing regiment until eight am. That before bed, he had given her slightly larger doses of the other potions to ensure that she could have at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. And if he perhaps saw the soft smile Miss Granger gave him at that news, or noticed that her gloved hand ghosted over his shirtfront in thanks, he pretended not to be affected.

It seemed the wisest course of action.

Once she was set with the pain potion though, and he was sure she was comfortable on the bed, he took a step back and lifted his eyebrow.

"Shall we continue with the effort to fix your hair, or just let it go for now?"

Hermione's lip quirked up with a faint bit of melancholy.

"Personally, I'd prefer to just get it done with so we can move onto the more important things we need to discuss."

Seeing Snape nod as he murmured, "yes, that was my thought as well," Hermione had her confirmation she was getting a haircut that morning. It wasn't something she'd been expecting . . . she'd actually given her hair no thought at all since she'd arrived at his home . . . but if Snape said it was too damaged to fix, then that was that.

She trusted his opinion as much, if not more, than anyone else still in her life.

So she sat there in her transfigured bed, in his tiny sitting room, watching while he scanned through the titles of the literal HUNDREDS of books that covered the walls, and were piled in neat stacks on the floor. She couldn't help then but feel a bit of her old self scratching from under the surface of the sad, harried, woman she had become. Because Young Hermione had always loved finding a new library, and it felt like she was convalescing in one now. For the past ten years she'd probably read five or six books a month, every month, beyond what she was assigned at Hogwarts. So that was perhaps seven or eight hundred books in total, just since she'd discovered she was a witch.

That didn't even cover all that she had devoured back when she was a child living a muggle life.

By her estimation at what she was looking at now though, there were probably near half as many books just in Snape's sitting room than she had read in her (known) magical lifetime. So she had to wonder how many of these volumes here would be brand new to her. This cosmetic charm book he was searching for certainly would be, as she'd never had time for such perceived, 'frivolity' in the past. Though Snape was correct that what she'd once considered frivolity, had now become a necessity. It was hard though to anticipate what knowledge might become useful later in life. That was why she'd generally preferred to learn as much as she could, about everything she could.

Just in case.

And as her attention shifted back to the man now stooped down running his fingers over one of the lower shelves, her expression softened.

She had never seen him so casual.

No robe, no frock coat, no boots . . . she bit her lip . . . not even any socks. And knowing that she was probably one of only a few people to have ever seen him in such an intimate state, made her feel special. Just the fact that he was actively searching for a bloody COSMETIC charm, book, simply to fix her hair, (her HAIR?!) made her feel special! She just could not imagine him doing that for, well, anyone. And when he suddenly let out a triumphant yell, and popped back to his feet, her brow inched up.

"Find it?"

"Yes, here, it is." He answered while flipping it open as he started walking back to the bed, "it was my mother's, and I knew it was in buried in with some of my old primary school textbooks from the same era."

"_Primary_ school?" Hermione repeated his words with a wary confusion, "how old _is_ this book?"

"I do not know," Snape muttered while flipping to the title page, "it says . . ."

For a moment he trailed off before his eyes snapped back over to hers.

"Nineteen sixty-seven."

Apparently noting by her unblinking stare, that she had some slight concern about the 'styles' they might find in a book that old, Snape rolled his eyes.

"We're just looking for edification on the _basic_ cutting charms, Miss Granger," he reminded her, "we're not trying to prep you for a ball."

"Right," she let out an embarrassed huff, "sorry. And not that the look matters really, I just suddenly pictured myself like I was Emma Peel or something decked out in black leather with a straight flip."

Being _quite_ familiar with the character of Emma Peel . . . he had grown up with a telly after all . . . Snape did not feel as though there was anything he could say to that statement which would not get him into IMMENSE trouble. So he simply blinked, twice, and looked back down at the Table of Contents.

"_Anyway_," he stated loudly while flipping forward through the pages, "I believe I have found exactly what we need."

It took him just a moment to find the pages which were outlined, and as he opened the section to find the moving images of six distinct hair styles on each page of the chapter, all with charm instructions and wand movements beneath them, he let out a satisfied grunt.

"Yes," he tapped the first of the pages, "here."

Then he spun the book around, levitating it so she could see clearly.

"Oh," Hermione murmured in surprise at how detailed everything was . . . like a textbook, "this is actually _very_ helpful, much more so than those silly magazines Lavender used to leave on her bed. But," she shook her head as her gaze bounced around the page, "I don't know which one would be best. Like I said, it doesn't matter really," her voice faded slightly, "I just don't want people to stare."

Her eyes snapped up to his.

"You choose."

Snape looked at her for a moment, then his gaze fell back to the shifting styles, upside down, in front of him. After he'd spun the book back his way, he flipped forward a few more pages in the hair chapter until he saw something that he liked. A lot. He spun the book back towards her.

He pointed.

"That one," he stated firmly, "there, on the left."

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the length.

"It's _very_ short," she murmured, with a clear undercurrent of worry.

"Yes," Snape nodded, "it is, because _very_ short is what you need. The hair you have now, Miss Granger," his tone softened then when he saw how confused she was, "most of it is damaged beyond any hope of saving. So if you truly do not wish for people to stare, it would be best to cut it all off, and let it come in again naturally."

It took a moment for Hermione to truly accept what he was saying . . . that this giant bush of hair that she'd had for as long as she could remember, it was all going away . . . but then she reminded herself that there were more important things to be concerned with at the moment. So she took a deep breath and nodded.

"If this is the best option, then okay," she answered quietly, "I trust you."

For a second Snape almost responded with a bit of dry sarcasm at her response, because really he would HOPE that she would trust him after he'd saved her life twice in the last twelve hours . . . but then he saw the look on her face. How she was worrying her bottom lip as she stared down at the book floating between them. And then he thought of how he would feel if their positions were reversed. If she was standing here telling him that he needed to chop off all of his hair, and start from scratch.

That would be most upsetting.

Clearly he did not consider himself a 'vain' person, but he was very attached to these long, lank, strands brushing against his shoulders. For decades, they had been a part of his armor. And he had so often, starting from a very young age, ducked his head down, pulled out a book, and hidden behind his dark veil whenever he wished to close out the world.

He imagined Miss Granger had often done much the same with that long, riotous, swirl of twists and curls.

So before he reached for his wand to perform the charm they had settled on, he reached over to put his hand on the top of her head.

"If you would like," he whispered, while running his fingers gently through the thick, curly strands in the back, "I can save you one of the locks from here. There was no damage in this area, so your hair still looks as I have always seen it, if that is the image you would like to hold onto."

Hermione's eyes burned slightly as she looked up at him.

"Yes, please," she answered with a faint smile, "it might seem silly," she sighed, "very silly, but I would like a piece just in case the potion caused any kind of permanent damage. The length might not ever grow back, right?"

"I suppose that is _possible_," Snape answered with a faint wrinkle in his nose while considering her question, "but at this point I would not say that outcome is likely, simply because you do not seem to have any burns at all on your scalp. The hair," he tipped his head to the side, "that is absolutely a lost cause, but," he ran his fingers down another lock, "because it _is_ so thick and curly, I believe that is what helped save you from suffering injury to the skin underneath. That and sheer luck, of course."

"Well," she nodded and swallowed, "that's something at least, but I would still the lock," she gave him a sad smile, "just in case."

"Of course," he murmured while pulling out his wand with his free hand, "just in case."

So with the riotous curl in his fingers stretched out at least four centimeters, Snape used his own teenage spell (slightly modified) and muttered a "_Sectum_" to dissect the single lock from the rest of the hair on her head.

It came off in one clean piece.

Once he had the lock in hand, he walked over and placed it down on the coffee table where he had laid out her healing potions. From there, he spent a few minutes studying their chosen cosmetic charm and practicing the styling motions with his wand until he felt completely comfortable with the movements. Then he turned back to Miss Granger.

"Are you ready?"

Though he had some concerns here with what needed to be done . . . he could tell Miss Granger was more upset about this cut than she wanted to be . . . he tried to mask the worry from his tone.

"Yes," Hermione took a breath and nodded, "I'm ready."

"All right," he raised his wand up high and then down sharply to the left, "_Brevis Capillum_!"

The charm was yelled out as he finished the last two movements of his wand. And just like that, Hermione felt the weight of her hair, the weight she had been carrying since she was six years old . . . disappear.

It felt like she'd lost a limb.

She felt an unexpected surge of genuine grief . . . and burst into tears. But knowing that was ridiculous, and also seeing how visibly distressed Snape was at her reaction, she tried to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, wishing desperately that she had the ability to wipe her own tears away, "I'm sorry. I'm okay, I just, it felt so wrong when it all disappeared. I couldn't help it."

"Your reaction is understandable, Miss Granger," Snape murmured softly as he stepped closer, "there is no need to apologize." Then he brought his hand up to ghost over her now shorn locks.

"If it is of any comfort, the cut came out correctly."

"Does that um," Hermione sniffled again before she cleared her throat, "does that mean it looks all right?"

"It means," he gave her a look, "that the charm worked as it was supposed to work. Your appearance is now that of the witch in the book. I found her features to be similar to yours, and her appearance to be pleasant with this style of cut. The cut is _correct_."

Though there was a bit of filler in his response, Hermione was able to pick out the key point.

Pleasant.

The style was pleasant and the cut was correct. That meant he liked it.

And as she felt his fingertips now lightly brushing through what she knew had been the sixties witch's version of a "Twiggy" cut (she'd seen a picture of her muggle grandmother with a similar one fashioned after Twiggy herself) she bit her lip, and looked down to the open book laying open on her lap.

"Do you think I could see it?" she whispered hesitantly.

"No," Snape answered immediately, while letting his hand fall back to his side, "not today." His gaze slowly shifted along her still healing flesh, "tomorrow evening, perhaps, if your recovery continues along at the same pace. Even then, you still won't look quite like yourself yet, after but another twenty-four hours, I feel it is less likely you will cry when you see your injuries."

An unexpected gasp slipped from Hermione's lips.

"Wait, they're STILL that bad?!"

The hitch in her voice couldn't be helped, because it truly had not occurred to her that the damage to her face wouldn't have NOTABLY improved after a full day of potion repair!

How was that possible?!

For a moment Snape just looked at her, his expression was kind, and then he reached out to loop his pinky finger through hers . . . it was the pinky closest to the edge of the blanket. That and the adjacent ring finger, were her only completely perfect fingers left, and even through the glove, that physical connection with him immediately helped to push down her panic at what she must look like. Every time he touched her now, she felt better. She didn't quite understand it, but it was true. It was like they had this connection that she'd never realized before, perhaps quite frankly because they'd never had much occasion to have physical contact before. Whatever it was though, his touch was like a balm that could sooth her emotional pain, if not the physical.

So she tightened her grip on his finger, and watched as he took a deep breath.

"Miss Granger," Snape spoke softly, almost gently, "your injuries _have_ markedly improved since you arrived, but they were quite frankly, catastrophic to start. Worse, I'm sure than you could have ever imagined. I did not wish for you to imagine it, so until now I have attempted to downplay the aesthetic truth of your injuries. You were _neve_r a monster," he gave her a knowing look given the conversation they'd had the day before and the way her eyes were welling up again now, "but the fact that it has been more than twenty-four hours and you are still not close to looking like yourself yet, is of no surprise to me. I know that at your age you have become accustomed to the," his jaw twitched, "_immediacy_, of magical healing. There are still some things though, which simply take time. And," he took a breath, "to prepare you in the event of some possible scarring, even _with_ time, and Dittany, there are also some things that our world cannot fix completely. Like this . . ."

And suddenly, to her shock, he reached up with his free hand to pull down the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, to show the scar beneath. Hermione's watery eyes popped open wide as the fears over her own appearance were momentarily forgotten.

_Nagini._

Memories of that night still brought a violent chill down her spine.

"This," Snape continued on while pulling the thick cotton down even further to show the ugly, surprisingly thick, red lines lashed along his neck, "has healed as much as it's going to heal. And you can see," he gave her a droll look, "it is not that great. But," he let his collar pop back, "I have grown to accept these markings with relative aplomb. I am alive. The creature that gave me these scars,_ both_ of the creatures . . . they are dead. I won."

"I don't think they look that bad actually," Hermione answered with a sniffle she couldn't help, though she made certain to focus her attention solely on him, because she knew in her bones that he'd ever shown these marks to anyone before. His trust in her was a gift.

One she was going to show the proper reverence.

"It is true though," she bit her lip, "it hadn't occurred to me that with access to our healing potions you would have been left with any scars at all, but," her expression softened, "they're just red, and it's not like they're on your face."

"Ah yes," Snape cut in drolly, "my face. Merlin forbid that cursed snake had marred the great _beauty_ that is MY face. A true tragedy was averted there."

Trying, and failing, to keep her mouth from quivering at his biting sarcasm, Hermione let out a quiet huff and gave their joined fingers a little shake.

"You jest," she responded softly with a deep thread of emotion in her voice, "but I like your face. It's interesting. Most people's faces aren't interesting. They're plain, like mine, or they're pretty like Cho or Ginny, but there's really nothing special about pretty, either, when you think about it. Pretty just means that your features are aesthetically balanced, and in a large group of pretty people, aesthetically balanced can be quite plain too."

Feeling a spark of pride at her words . . . she had made him feel attractive, though he knew he was not . . . Snape had to look away for a moment.

Then he took a breath and when he looked back to see her staring at him, (her eyes were watering), he reached out to run his fingers through her hair again.

He really was quite fond of the cut. More to the point though, he wanted her to _know_ how fond he was. His thought was, that might help her become more comfortable with it.

He just wanted to make things a little easier for her.

"If you agree," he spoke softly, with a brush of his thumb along the shell of her ear, "I would like to share my magic with you again today, as I believe you were correct that there could be some healing qualities to be found in the process. I think it has expedited some of your tissue reformation."

"Well, that's very good to hear," Hermione answered in the same hushed tone, as she felt that warmth spread out in her belly again . . . it was the way he was touching her, "but honestly, I would have wanted to do it again even if there weren't any healing qualities to be found."

And she left it that, because she was afraid to say the rest out loud. The feeling of his magic flowing through her veins, it had been the first time that she'd felt truly safe and happy, in years. And even though she hadn't said that part aloud, she could tell from the way Snape was looking at her with that gentle expression she'd never seen him use with anyone else before, that he understood how special the experience had been for her.

Which made her wonder if it had been special for him as well.

It was a question she nearly asked, but then he took a breath.

"We will do it this morning," he said softly, "after your potions. And as to your other thoughts," he gave her a look then, "so we are clear, the woman who showed up at midnight to harass me in my sickbed at St. Mungo's, was not plain. _You_ are not plain, Hermione Granger. Not to me."

Suddenly realizing what he had just said, out loud, a faint flush touched Snape's cheeks. Then he cleared his throat and gently disentangled their fingers as he let his other hand fall from scalp.

He straightened up.

"I need to dress," he stated quietly, while making sure to look directly into her eyes, "and when I come back, you shall tell me why you needed to brew that potion and our day shall go from there."

And with that, and an "_Accio_ boots," he turned with a metaphorical swirl, and as those boots flew into his hands, he headed out of the room, and down the front hall.

For a moment Hermione just stared after him, biting down on her lip.

_He thinks I'm pretty._

It was such a curious admission to come within the same conversation where he refused to allow her access to a mirror because her face was still so disfigured.

But then she realized that made his confession all the more touching.

Because apparently when Snape looked at her, he still saw her as he felt that she really was . . . her eyes started to burn . . . even though right now, what she was, wasn't quite herself. And that's when she came to understand, _this_ was the real reason why he had never recoiled from her.

To him, she was pretty no matter what.

Dear Merlin, she thought with a choked sob, if he wasn't the sweetest man she'd ever met! Because that was a beautiful thought he'd shared with her, and it was exactly what she'd needed to hear. Not only for the desperately needed boost to her morale, but as a reminder that this was a man to whom she could tell everything. And maybe he wouldn't condemn her. Maybe he would be able to see that the terrible things she had done, they hadn't really been _her_. That she had started this chain of events with the best of intentions.

And then . . . the tears began to slide down her face . . . everything had fallen apart.

/*/*/*/*

When Snape stepped back into the sitting room much more put together than when he had left it a few minutes before, he saw Miss Granger was staring at the fire.

It was clear that she was crying.

"Are you in pain?" He asked with concern as he continued forward, buttoning the last few buttons of his frock coat.

He'd left his robe in the closet for now.

"What?" She blinked and turned her head to look him. "Oh, no," she sniffled, "no, there's nothing physically wrong beyond the usual pain the potion can't touch. I was just thinking about where to begin with what I need to tell you." Her jaw twisted as she took in a raggedy breath. "I've made such a cock up of things, sir," she winced and looked down to the silken gloves covering her fingers . . . the gloves he'd made to comfort her, "you're going to be so upset with me."

Snape's jaw twisted.

"Perhaps," he answered honestly, because that was usually how he answered most questions, "but we shall not know until you tell me what you have done. And no matter _what_ you have done, Miss Granger, no matter how bad it is, I will forgive your actions, of this I am sure."

Then with a snap of his fingers he conjured a chair to sit in . . . he sat.

"Now please," he let out a heavy breath and crossed his arms at his chest.

"Begin at the beginning."

* * *

_A/N 2: Freely admit, no idea if they ever covered 'magical haircuts' in canon. Can't recall it ever coming up, but outside of them just breaking out scissors like muggles do, specific cutting charms designed for different styles made the most sense. To me :) And I really liked the idea of Snape pulling out his mom's old book to figure it out, because clearly this would be a knowledge gap shared with fellow book nerd, Hermione. And the inspiration for her Twiggy haircut (outside of it being so perfect for the era), was because it did also work with the chop EW did of her hair after the movies were done. Emma is obviously always going to be more 'glamorous' than Hermione, but in writing the fictional character, it is easier to 'see' her in my head if she bears a more general resemblance to the actress at that age. Basically the curly hair had to go no matter :)_

_I also decided that 'Sectum' alone could be used to cut anything Snape wanted to cut. It didn't have to be used as a weapon._

_And I discovered that casting a tempus to check the time, though I've read it a MILLION times, is not a real thing! It was invented in ff, which is pretty cool, because it's very much become part of the lexicon, so I added it in here. God knows who invented it to start but, thanks, random writer!_

_Also, I had planned, and had written, their entire conversation at the end here, but the chapter was already getting very long and it would have been another five pages at least to clean up and my cat REALLY wanted to sit in my lap. She was making it difficult to type :) So I figured we could cut it here and just open with the meat of the plot next time. Basically that's how we ended up with mostly a warm fuzzies chapter when it had been designed originally to kick the plot ball down the road. But they need bonding time to facilitate the romance, (the fun bits) and they really did need to deal with her Kentucky Fried Chicken hair, so, it worked out. I haven't decided yet if this will be a 'soul bond' undercurrent, or if what they're experiencing is simply them discovering a more traditional (non-magical) emotional connection. I'll suss it out as we go forward._

_Again, love to hear what you think :) Thanks!_


	5. Contrition

**Author's Note: **Finally, we find out the terrible thing Hermione has done! Please go easy on her :)

Direct continuation.

* * *

_Sorry is the wake of misdeed. It's the crippling ripple of consequence. Sorry is sadness, just as knowing is sadness._

\- Craig Silvey, Jasper Jones

*/*/*/*

"_Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn, my God do you learn."_

\- C.S. Lewis

* * *

**Contrition**

"All right, well," Hermione took a slow, even, breath as she watched Snape settle back into his newly formed chair, "the _true_ beginning starts at the end of sixth year. You remember that's when Vold . . . the Dark Lord began to escalate his attacks on muggles and the muggle born?"

Seeing Snape raise his left eyebrow, and knowing that meant of course he remembered the escalation, he'd been a forced participant _in_ it, her cheeks flushed slightly.

"Right, well," she cleared her throat and continued on, "at that point I already knew I wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts for seventh year because I had to help Harry find the Horcruxes. And with Dumbledore," she shot him an apologetic look for having to bring this point up," _dead,_ you, seemingly working on the other side, and the rest of The Order quite frankly a mess because they really were entirely too dependent on Dumbledore to lead them, I had no one left whom I trusted, to ask for the advice that I so desperately needed."

"Advice regarding what?" Snape asked with a furrowing of his brow.

Hermione's eyes began to fill.

"Advice regarding," she sucked in a ragged breath, "what to do with my parents."

When her voice broke at the end, Snape's eyes widened . . . this was not how he had expected her story to begin. And seeing how Miss Granger was chewing on her lip as her breath quickened, he realized that however the rest of this went, it was going to be much more emotionally painful than he had anticipated.

He was right.

Because she continued on then, telling him how she, a mere sixth year at that point, completely on her own, had wiped her parents' memories of her, everyone they'd ever known, and the decades of life that they'd lived there in England. That she was able to do that much was amazing, that somehow she was THEN able to cast an enchantment which gave them _new_ memories, and had them relocate all the way to Australia, was truly astounding! And all the way through her telling of that part of the story all he could think was that yes, objectively speaking, perhaps what she had done was 'wrong'. . . he was certain that her parents would have seen her decisions as such . . . but given the climate of the time, he believed that she had been right to do it. Better than anyone, Snape understood that most moral decisions made during wartime could not be viewed in terms of black and white, but essentially by varying degrees of _more_ right, or _less_ wrong.

The choices she had made were somewhere in the middle of that convoluted spectrum.

Because there was no doubt in his mind, without Miss Granger's intervention, the elder Grangers _would_ have been executed before the end of the war. It wasn't a topic that the Dark Lord had specifically brought up in front of him, but knowing what he did about how the Death Eaters were operating once they were out of the shadows, Snape could say for certain that the execution would have been ordered first as punishment to Miss Granger for her open support of Potter, but more particularly simply because of who she was personally. Even the Dark Lord had understood on some level, (though of course it was openly denied) that she had been (and still was) the living proof that his pureblood ideology was an absolute farce. She was unequivocally, and near universally, known to be the brightest witch of her age.

And she was muggleborn.

The Death Eaters had despised her, and would have done anything they could to make her suffer. So the safest place for her parents truly _had_ been on the other side of the world, and as far as Snape could see, her decisions made during that period had been just.

At least the ones she'd recounted so far.

And by the way that she was able to move through that part of the story without falling back into her initial tears, showed him that Miss Granger was also more comfortable with those actions she had taken in the early days of that terrible summer. It wasn't until after she'd skimmed over the events during her year on the run, that he saw her move to begin wringing her damaged hands together.

He immediately cut in with a soft, "no," as he waved his own hand to separate her fingers again.

Her eyes darted anxiously over to his for a second, before she realized what he had meant. She swallowed and nodded.

"Right, thank you. So anyway," she let her palms lay out flat on her thighs, "during that whole year, I hadn't told anyone, not even the boys, what I'd done. When I'd," she bit her lip, "well, when I'd sent my parents away, I'd told myself that their absence would be permanent. That they were gone and I needed to accept that because it was the only way to keep them safe. So I grieved their loss as though they really were dead, because I figured that way if I was captured, and my memories were probed, all anyone would see would be my grief. I spent those first weeks at the Burrow, the ones before Bill and Fleur's wedding, crying myself to sleep every night and hiding that from everyone. Of course even then there was a flicker of hope in me that they could come back someday, but," she took a breath, "I tried so hard to ignore it. Better to accept the worst case scenario, and I had thought, so naively, that never seeing them again _would_ be the worst case," her voice began to crackle as her gaze fell down to her gloves, "but I was wrong. Because after the war was over I, well," she winced and started to cry again, "I lost my mind for a little while, and the decisions I made then," her watery eyes shot back over to his, "oh, sir, they were so terrible, I don't even how to explain to you what I did!"

Snape took a breath and leaned forward.

"You are doing fine, Miss Granger," he responded quietly, and with a calm he didn't feel given the pit he had in his stomach . . . the rest of this was going to be very bad, "just fine. I understand this is extremely difficult, but I am sure you will feel less stress once you have told me everything. So please, take a breath, find your place, and continue."

Though he'd thought that his words would help to settle her, as she stared over him, wide eyed and panting, with tears running down her face, Snape was actually worried that perhaps she was on the verge of COMPLETELY breaking down. So to head that off, he found himself quickly coming to his feet and stepping over to the bed so he could run his fingers through her hair. When she let out a muffled sob, he leaned down to press his lips to her good ear.

"Last night when I shared my magic," he whispered while letting his hand slide down to lightly rub the back of her neck, "do you remember the feelings of calm and strength that you said you received from the experience?"

Hearing her sniffle out a mumbled, "yes," he let his hand fall away, and he leaned back to give her a look.

"Okay," his voice hardened, "now I want you to remember that you are Hermione _Fucking_ Granger. You fought DEATH EATERS at fifteen, and took on the Dark Lord himself, barely two years later. You are a warrior. So to hell with my magic. With or without it, you are the strongest witch I know."

That time when she looked at him, he could see that she was choking down a sob. Finally she let it out, and with it came a bitter, broken, smile.

"Merlin, how I have needed you, and I so wish I had come here earlier!"

His stomach churned at her words, and he found himself reaching out to touch her again . . . it was becoming impossible not to do so. And as he brushed his thumb along the shell of her ear, he saw her eyes fall shut. Whether the movement came with her letting out a whimper or a gasp, he was not sure, but either way it brought an ache to his chest. Then he took a breath.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. And when she did, he graced her with something rarely seen . . . an actual smile. Though it was small.

And no less broken than hers had been.

"You are here with me now," he continued on with a firm nod, "that is all that matters. And from this point on, I vow that you will have my support, and assistance, for as long as it takes. Now," he slowly exhaled, "do you think you will be able to continue? Or do you wish to try the magic sharing again first? Though I believe, with all that I am, that you can do this without my magical assistance, we must also allow that your body did suffer catastrophic physical trauma, not even twenty-four hours ago. That is clearly not helping you maintain your emotional control right now."

Hermione blinked as another tear slid down her cheek.

As much as she so _desperately_ wanted to feel the warmth of his magic filling her again, she knew that she had to continue without it. Because he was right, she was Hermione Fucking Granger, and she was no coward. Absolute fuck up, yes, but . . . she sucked in a ragged breath . . . coward, no.

Not so far.

"I can finish," she murmured with a slow exhale, "but after," she looked up at him hopefully, and what she believed, a bit pathetically, "could we? I mean," her lips pursed, "if you aren't too angry with me by then?"

Snape scowled slightly.

"I already told you," he answered with a grunt as he moved back to his chair, "I will forgive you no matter what you have done, so I already know that I will hold no anger towards you at the end of this conversation. We will do the magical sharing immediately then, if you so wish."

Silly witch.

"Okay," Hermione gave him a faint, melancholy, smile, "thank you. That helps, actually. So," she blinked and took a deep breath, trying SO hard to keep both her mental focus and her emotional control, "the war ended, and I was so happy to find out that you had survived. Actually my visit with you at St. Mungo's," she gave him a shy glance, "it was one of the few bright points of that summer, because I spent most of that time at The Burrow. Harry was there too. When we'd first decided to accept Molly's offer to move in, we'd thought it would be good for us, being around people again after a year on the run. But also, of course we'd really wanted to help Ron and the others deal with Fred's death. But," she winced slightly, "it wasn't what I'd expected."

Then she rolled her eyes.

"Well, I don't know what I expected exactly given the circumstances, but it was just _so_ hard being there. The grief that Molly and Arthur and George were experiencing was so intense, and I was just stuck there in the midst of it. Molly would burst into sobs at the most random of things, and George was, what I knew muggle doctors would call, 'clinically depressed' but," she huffed bitterly, "you know we don't acknowledge that kind of emotional disturbance in the wizard world, so he was just suffering in his own hell. And Arthur, he just wandered around the house," her voice started to thicken, "he seemed so lost. I couldn't do anything for any of them. And Harry, he had Ginny. They would sneak off all the time, just leaving me there. Of course I still had Ron," she started to feel a bit of discomfort then discussing her previous relationship, but she pushed that down . . . Snape didn't need to know the two of them had spent that first month shagging like rabbits, "but," she cleared her throat to push off the images in her head, "he was grieving too. And then after a couple weeks of us spending so much time together without Harry around, a novelty for us, he decided that we should pursue a real relationship, as adults. But for me," she slowly exhaled, "living together without the threat of constant death hanging over our heads, had made me realize how very incompatible we would be as a proper couple. Ironically," she let out another bitter huff, "if I _had _allowed him to convince me to give us a shot, I probably wouldn't have ended up in the hell that I am now. I would have just been miserable in a whole different way."

The moment those words left her mouth, Hermione winced and closed her eyes.

"No, wait," she shook her head, "that was a terrible thing to say. It was unkind, and untrue. Ron did nothing wrong. We're just very different people who have always had different interests, and different goals for our lives. Anyway though," she cleared her throat, "the _point_ in me mentioning all of that with Ron, is that once we'd talked about our futures, and realized how different our plans for them truly were, we kind of," her lips pursed, "drifted apart. I mean it wasn't a falling out, there was no fight. We were, _are_," her brow furrowed, "still friends. But once we'd decided to get on with our lives beyond the war, that meant making active choices that were going to take us in different directions. The same thing with Harry and Ginny. They were off making plans for their future together, and those plans had nothing at all to do with me. It was such a strange time, because the boys, as infuriating as they could be on many occasion, had been my anchors since that day we met on the train. For good or bad, I always knew who I was with them. But now our little triumvirate had splintered and I'd sort of been," her voice faded, "set adrift. Basically," she cleared her throat to keep going, "I had nothing to keep me at the Burrow any longer," she took a breath, "so a few weeks later I moved out. It was the day after Harry's eighteenth birthday. I was all alone back in my parents' house in Hampstead. It was very lonely, and after being at the Burrow with so many people, it was so, so, quiet too. Just me and Crookshanks."

"Your familiar, yes?" Snape cut in with a raised eyebrow, as he did recall brushing many a feline hair off his robes at Grimmauld Place.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, "my cat. He was all the company I had, but," her mouth twisted in a grim smile, "he obviously wasn't enough, you know? It was right around then that I first started thinking about my parents again. It had been so long since I'd even allowed myself the luxury of _remembering_ them. But being home, in peacetime, I had to consciously remind myself that it was actually OKAY to think about them. It was safe to finally let those memories surface. I wasn't going to get dragged off and tortured for information again."

"Wait," Snape cut in sharply with a raise of his hand, "stop! What do you mean _again_?! When were you dragged off and TORTURED?!"

_What the bloody hell was THIS?!_

"What?" Hermione blinked and looked over at him with a faint confusion, "you know, when the snatchers caught us and we were brought to Malfoy Manor. Or," her eyebrow rose up at the look of growing horror on his face, "did you _not_ know about that?"

"No," his fists clenched as his voice got louder, "I did NOT know! Was it Lucius who tortured you?! Because if it was, I will Avada him straight to hell!"

Seeing how genuinely incensed Snape was at the thought of her being hurt, sent a strange warmth through Hermione's chest. But she didn't want him killing Lucius over something he hadn't done . . . not when there were probably dozens of legitimate reasons to kill him over things that he _had_ done . . . so she quickly raised her hand.

"No, it's okay," she cut back quickly, "it wasn't Lucius, it was Bellatrix, and she's already been Avada'd straight to hell, so," she shrugged, "there's nothing to be done. But thank you though," her expression softened, "you know, for caring enough to threaten to kill one of your oldest friends, just for me."

Snape's jaw twitched.

"Lucius is probably my only friend," he responded quietly, "but after the last twenty-four hours of caring for you, if he were to ever physically harm you, I am certain I would kill him without hesitation."

Hermione's eyes filled at his declaration, and for a moment there was nothing but silence as they simply stared at one another. Though she might have expected that there would be some flush in his cheeks after saying that . . . it was such an open admission of his apparently growing depth of feelings . . . he actually didn't seem to be at all embarrassed. Resolute, perhaps, but definitely not embarrassed. So she found herself responding just as openly from her side.

He had given her courage.

"Funny as it sounds," she whispered as a tear spilled over and slid down her cheek, "that death threat is probably one of the most romantic things a man's ever said to me. And I so wish I could reach out and hold your hand right now, because whatever this is that's happening with us," her voice crackled, "it's the only thing holding me together."

For a moment Snape's expression twisted, it almost seemed like he was in physical pain, but then he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"I am here for you whether I can hold your hand or not," he answered softly, "though I do promise that action will be the first one I take once it is safe to remove your gloves. Now," he tipped his head, "I am sorry for interrupting your story, but the thought of you being tortured was too upsetting to let go without immediate inquiry. I will reserve any other questions to a later point." He made a gesture with his hand, "please continue."

Hermione blinked and looked down.

"Right," she took a shallow breath, "where was I? Oh," she shook her head, "August. The memories. That was the first time that I'd even _considered_ seeing if there was a way to get my parents back. But before I was able to give the idea any serious thought, to think how it might be done, I received an urgent owl from Hogwarts. The Ministry had just decided to set up focused, in depth, tutorials to help those of us who still wanted to take our NEWTs but didn't want to return for a full, proper, seventh year of study at Hogwarts. The catch was though, that we had to be finished by the start of the new school year. And because they were still repairing the damage to the castle, officially, for the first time ever, school was starting on September fifteenth, instead of the first. The sessions were to begin within forty-eight hours, and to last for the next four weeks. Of course I had to go. So I got my supplies, packed up Crookshanks, and off we went. Eighteen of us showed up at the gates, neither Harry nor Ron came, but the rest of us, a good chunk of Dumbledore's Army, ironically enough," she let out a heavy sigh, "we were all housed in Slytherin. But given their physical location, the dungeons had obviously suffered the least amount of damage during the final battle, so it was it was the only house that was completely ready for students."

"But wasn't it difficult for you, being in that house?" Snape asked softly, with a worried crease in his brow. And yes, he was breaking his own just set rule about holding his questions but he could not even imagine a muggleborn living in Slytherin. It wasn't only the students who had held those pureblood views. There were spirits there who could be _quite_ nasty.

And dangerous.

"Um," Hermione nodded slightly as she bit down a sigh, "it was and it wasn't. I was frightened a little bit when we first arrived just because I wasn't sure if I was emotionally ready to be called a Mudblood again," her lips pressed together in a thin line, "I was so tired of that abuse, and _I'd_ won the damn war, so I shouldn't have had to deal with that rubbish again at all. So when I got there I was anxious and kind of geared up for a fight, but luckily most of the people who came back for the tutorials were from other houses. Draco was actually one of only three Slytherins, and he, somewhat shockingly, apologized to me immediately for his past behavior. It helped settle some of my anxiety. He also gave me advice about areas of their house that I should avoid at all costs."

"Third floor bathrooms," Snape cut in with an anxious twitch of his jaw. And she quickly nodded.

"Yes, he said that would be a very unsafe area for me. And there were a few others that I'm sure you know about as well. So I was careful, and Draco voluntarily placed himself as a buffer between me and the other two Slytherins, who were less than happy about having a muggle in their old house."

And sensing then that Snape had another question, though it was obvious from the way he was gnawing on his lower lip that he was trying to hold it for later, she answered the thought she knew was on his mind.

"Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini," she clarified for him, "those were the other students, and because I know you're wondering about this too, neither of them used the M word. Draco bat bogey hexed Millicent the first time she started to say it, and that was the end of it. But really," she cleared her throat again, "after the first night of settling in, I was almost too busy to even notice them or their snide remarks. From then on it was four weeks of fifteen hour days, cramming in an entire YEAR'S worth of studies. The Great Hall was still being repaired so the house elves provided food for us in the common room. It was much more convenient given our time constraints, and it's no exaggeration to say that all I did during those weeks was sleep and study and grab the occasionally snack to eat while I read. And it paid off. At the end of week four, I'd successfully completed all of my tutorials, so the next day I was eligible to start taking my NEWTs."

Then she paused to shrug, almost indifferently, because studying for NEWTs now seemed so ridiculous.

So many things seemed ridiculous now.

"I passed everything," she finally continued on with a sigh, "so a week later I was sent back out into the world again. Except I didn't know what to do with myself," her voice began to thicken, "and three days after I got home, it was my birthday. It was September nineteenth, and Molly of course insisted I come back to the Burrow to celebrate. She made me a cake and everyone gave me a present, and we all pretended like it was a normal, happy, day, but," she sniffled, "it wasn't. All I'd wanted was for my parents to be there. And all of the distractions I'd had all summer, they were gone, and with them, all of those walls I'd built up to protect myself from that blinding grief and guilt I had for wiping their memories, they'd fallen away too. Because since I'd gotten home from Hogwarts, my parents were all I could think about. It was this constant emptiness that filled me. I cried every day. But all of the reasons I'd had for sending them away, and convincing myself that they could never come back, they were all moot. It was safe to be a muggle again, so I finally accepted that I could start looking into finding a way to bring them home." Her voice faded slightly, "it was my wish when I blew out my candles. So the day after my birthday, I began my research on reversing memory charms. I kept my expectations low, but I was still so excited to realize that it was possible to do it, but _then_ I realized," her voice crackled, "to my absolute devastation, that the window of time to reverse the charm had already closed. At that point it had been almost sixteen months since I'd sent them away."

She looked over at him as another tear slid down her cheek.

"Most memory charms become permanent after one year."

"Yes," Snape nodded slowly as a sense of dread began to fill him . . . what had she done?

"This is true," he continued on, trying to keep his tone light, "but _most_ is not _all_. Sometimes there are ways."

"Right," she choked down a sob, "sometimes there _are_ ways. And if only I'd come to you then, to ask you to help me figure out those ways, we wouldn't be having this conversation now almost a year later. But I didn't come to you, because I became lost in my own self loathing and pity. I was so angry with myself for not attempting to bring them back immediately after the final battle, because then I would have still been in that one year window. It would have probably all been fine. And I just couldn't accept that I had made such a calamitous mistake, that I had now literally lost them forever! So that's when I became obsessed with the idea of finding a loophole. Headmaster McGonagall had called in a favor for me after my NEWTs, to get me an apprenticeship at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was supposed to start in November, but I got a one year extension. I told them I needed time to adjust to living in peacetime again, and they believed me. And Harry and Ron and the Weasleys, I sent them an owl, telling them that I'd decided to travel abroad for awhile to clear my head. And _they_ believed me. It was astounding how I could just say things, and people believed me!"

"They believed you, Miss Granger, because they _trusted_ you," Snape cut in with a faint reproach, and though his tone had no real bite, and his look was kind, she still winced as though his words had been shouted.

The guilt flooded through her.

"Yes," she took in a ragged breath, "that was it. They trusted me. _Everyone_ trusted me, and I let everyone down. That wasn't my intention, but I'd needed time to myself, and somehow I'd managed to buy myself this perfect, near indefinite, window where I could do whatever I wanted to do without being accountable to anyone at all. So for the next three months, all I did was research. I really did travel, that lie ended up becoming truth. I went to Dobrogea then to Greece, Turkey, and finally, Transylvania. All places with very old magical communities, because I needed their knowledge. Their books. It took so long to translate everything after I'd gathered the books though, another three or four months at least, but finally, I thought I had it. I'd figured out the right spell and the right potion to go with it. And I'd done a genetic locator charm to find my parents' new address, so I was ready to take the trip. I went the muggle way, just because I was still avoiding dealing with the Ministry. It was nobody's business what I was doing, that's what I thought. So I got to Perth, and tracked down my mum and dad at their new home." Her lip started to tremble, "I sobbed the first time I saw them in their driveway. They didn't see me of course, I was disillusioned. But I knew I really only would have one chance to get everything right, so I watched them constantly for three days at both their home and their work before I felt like was ready to try to bring them back. So on the third night I followed them back to their new house, and right through the front door. I'd stunned them both before they even knew I was there. And then I did it," her voice began to thicken again, "but it didn't work. I was positive I had figured out the right spell and potion, that perfect loophole, but no matter how many times I cast the spell and revived them, nothing happened. They were just stuck as these strangers who were getting more and more terrified of me each time they woke up. And I couldn't just give up, not then. I'd gone so far, literally to the other side of the world, I had to figure it out! I had to bring them HOME! So I, I . . . I . . ."

When she continued to stammer and cry, Snape cut in again because he knew this was the crux of it all.

When everything truly fell apart.

"Miss Granger, _please,_" his voice thickened, "tell me what you did, right now!"

The emotion in his tone seemed to help her to refocus, because her eyes shot over to his as her own voice broke.

"I cursed them! I cast an_ Imperio_ and I MADE them come home!"

"You did _what_?!" He hissed in disbelief.

"I cursed them!" She sobbed as her arms came up to fold at her chest, "my poor parents, I'd already stripped one identity from them, and then I stole another. They were happy in Australia, I could see that, they had built themselves another life, another practice, they were even looking into fostering a young girl who had been orphaned from a car accident. I," she sniffled and swallowed, "I don't like to think that played any part in what I did, but I can't deny that I was jealous," her face twisted, "and hurt, when I saw them together on my second day there. I mean, I know that they didn't remember me, they really didn't, but still," her voice crackled, "somehow I just couldn't believe that they were going to REPLACE me with another daughter! So I made them send a letter to the orphanage telling them that they were moving away. Then I made them close their practice and sell their home, and to tell their neighbors that they had an urgent family issue and had to go away immediately. That way nobody would look for them. And once all of that was done, eight days after I'd arrived in Australia, I had my father buy us three one way tickets back to Heathrow. Of course when we arrived, I had to _Confundo_ the Immigration officers because obviously there were no logical answers to the questions they were asking. Somehow I got us out of the airport without being arrested by the muggle authorities, or the Ministry, but then I didn't know what to do. We were home, but by then NOTHING was like I'd thought it would be! And I couldn't bring them to our old house in Hampstead because it's much too densely populated an area to put an effective _Notice Me Not_ charm on the house. The neighbors would have been swarming in asking my parents where they'd been for the last year and a half. So I took them to the one place I thought we'd have some real privacy, our family's summer cottage in Cornwall."

Snape took a deep breath as his brow lifted.

"And what do your parents think they're doing in Cornwall?"

She let out another sob.

"They don't THINK anything, sir! I was not exaggerating when I said that NOTHING was like it should have been! EVERYTHING went wrong! It was the dark magic, I think," she continued with a sniffle, "because outside of my Horcrux studies, until this happened, my knowledge of the dark arts had been very limited in focus, and I never had any intention of doing what I did, so I hadn't done any research on how to cast the _Imperius_ properly. I mean," she winced, "it still obviously would have been a _horrible_ thing to do to them, but at least if I'd studied up I could have done this horrible thing CORRECTLY! But I could see within a day that something wasn't quite right with their behavior. But it wasn't until three days later when we actually got on the plane home, and you know it's such a long flight, that I realized just how bad things were going to become. It was obvious that they had some kind of," she winced and shook her head, "_brain damage_ from the spell. At first, when we were still in Australia, it was just that they would just trail off when they were talking, and it was strange, but I didn't know if that was a normal side effect of the curse. But then by the time we left, they had started to get more and more confused about the simplest of things, like how to use a drinking straw. My dad couldn't figure it out at all. But then finally, it was like they were just," she winced, "broken. On the flight, they didn't know when they were hungry or thirsty. They would just stare at me with these blank expressions, when I asked them questions. And my mother actually _wet_ herself, in her seat on the plane, because she didn't know enough to get up and go to the TOILET!"

When Miss Granger's words ended in another broken sob, Snape winced and dropped his head into his hands.

Oh bloody hell . . . she really did cock everything up.

"So what _exactly_ have you done with them?"

His voice was somewhat muffled about his palm, and with his head still down . . . he was just trying to think . . . he heard her sniffle before she continued speaking.

Her voice was getting hoarse.

"Basically," she took a breath, "for the last two months, they've just been sitting in front of the television all day, every day. They don't really seem to process what they're watching, but," she bit her lip, "it makes me feel better to have it on for them, rather than they stare at a blank wall. And I needed to be able to do the research on Dark Arts and spell damage without worrying that they'd be starving to death and sitting in a pool of their own filth, so I've had a charm set on each of them. It makes sure they get food and exercise and that they go to the toilet on a regular rotation." Her jaw twisted, "it's sort of a modified infant care charm that I found in a Magical Mother book. Given the situation, it's worked well enough," she winced slightly, "we've had a few bathroom incidents, but physically," she rolled her eyes, "outside of the horrific brain damage that is, their health is good. I run a diagnostic on them each day. But before I started brewing this last potion, knowing how dangerous it was, in case something went wrong I'd sent them to their beds and put them under a stasis charm. The charm's supposed to hold them suspended for forty-eight hours if I did it right, but," she shook her head, "you know now that I hadn't eaten or slept in three days before I cast it, so I don't really trust it. I think they'll need to be checked later today," her voice faded, "just in case I screwed that up too."

Hearing the sadness and self-loathing in her voice, Snape bit his lip. Then he took a breath, and let it out slowly.

"All right," he lifted his head to give her a dry look, "you were correct, you did cock everything up. However," he quickly shook his head to try and preempt the fresh batch of tears he could see filling her eyes, "I can see very clearly that this tragic chain of events began in desperation, and with your intentions being only of light, so I am NOT angry with you. I am angry with myself for not taking your owls in time to avoid you getting hurt, and I am angry with Potter and Weasley for letting you just," he scowled, "DISAPPEAR off the face of the earth for months on end, like you would simply be fine all on your own. By your accounts, it appears that they still all had each other, and you," he shook his head angrily, "you had no one. You were traumatized from fighting in a war, grieving the loss of a half dozen close friends, and then you were separated from your magical family," he gave her another look, "that is what the Weasleys are to you, your family, and losing them, and those ridiculous boys, meant that you were left completely isolated with no support system at all." He shook his head, "the fact that you fell down the path that you did is not really a surprise to me. I fell down the wrong path for much less noble reasons."

"But I cast an _Unforgivable_, sir," her voice broke, "on my PARENTS! If anyone finds out, I'm going to AZKABAN!"

"NO!" his voice suddenly boomed through the room, loud enough to make her jump, "you are NOT going to Azkaban! If I didn't go for everything I did," he shook his head vehemently, "you are not going for this! We will fix it. _I_," he gave her a pointed look, "will fix it, and no one will ever know what you did."

Hermione blinked and another tear ran down her cheek.

"I can't leave them the way they are," she whispered, "I can't. It's, what I've done to them," she winced and looked away from him, "it's an abomination."

"Miss Granger," Snape quickly came to his feet and reached out to put his hand on the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him again, "we will NOT leave them in this condition. I have some ideas on what might be done to fix things, or at least make them better. But in the absolute worst case, if I cannot reverse the spell damage, I promise that their situation will be resolved, _humanely_."

She choked down another sob.

"One Unforgiveable for another," she whispered with a crackle in her voice.

"It is not unforgiveable to return a person's dignity," he responded softly with a gentle caress of her neck, "or to remove them from a state of misery. So we will do what must be done, to right this wrong. And as I am sure that the stasis charm you set will be fine for at least another few hours, I am planning my visit there for after your ten am pain potion. I do not want to leave until I am sure you will be sleeping, because I do intend to spend some time in your lab looking over your research, and I cannot do that effectively, while also worrying about you being in pain. And now," he took a deep breath, and slowly let it out, "I believe it is time for your remaining potion regiment. And also," he gave her a gentle pat on the back, "you need breakfast."

As he started to step away, she reached out to brush her covered fingers along his sleeve. When he turned back, she gave him a sad smile.

"Thank you for being kind, sir. If you had been angry, I think it would have broken me."

Snape's expression softened then, as he reached down to catch those two fingers.

"Miss Granger," he spoke quietly, though firmly, "though I now understand why you have been punishing yourself for all of these months, please know," he shook his head, "no matter the terrible thing you did, you truly are not a bad person. You are what you have always been, decent and kind. If you were not, then you would not have been so consumed with guilt over your actions. You made a terrible, impulsive decision. And if circumstances were not what they are, I am absolutely certain that you would have immediately reversed the Imperius, as soon as you had come to your senses. Unfortunately," he sighed, "the choice to do that was taken from you. But I promise," he gave her fingers a shake, "I _will_ fix it, and you will eventually forgive yourself for what you have done. Now," let out a heavy breath as he straightened up, "would hot chocolate and grilled cheese be all right for breakfast?"

For a moment she just stared up at him as her eyes filled with fresh tears. Then she nodded, and sniffled, "yes, please. That would be very nice."

He was making her favorites for her again, the meal he knew brought her comfort. And she knew then from the way that he ruffled her hair before he turned away, that this was his way of telling her that he really wasn't upset with her at all.

Her sins were already forgiven.

Still, as soon as he left the room, she burst into tears. Though that time the sobs felt more cathartic than anything else, because he had been right, unloading all of that guilt and stress had helped to loosen that terrible vice which had squeezing her heart for the last six months. Snape would make it better . . . she sucked in a ragged breath as she looked to him coming back through the sitting room door.

He had promised.

* * *

_A/N 2: This fandom is SO huge that coming up with a wholly original idea for a story is obviously VERY difficult :) But in all my reading, I didn't come across anything quite like this concept, which was, I believe, why my brain decided it had to run with it. If it was unique, at least it was something new to contribute. A few people had guessed her issue had to do with her parents, but I'd love to hear if anyone had guess that she had done THIS to them. But it felt organic to me, in a twisted way, that in a moment of desperation, when she's all alone, and desperately lonely, that she could do this awful thing. All she wanted was to just get them back to England, then she figured she'd reverse the spell and deal with the fallout. But then she can't take it back, because she f'd up the curse so badly that she literally broke them. And I couldn't see Snape getting angry with her for the reasons he'd said. He'd f'd up way worse at her age with far less noble reasons to start, so he'll help her fix it, no matter what he has to do._

_So next time around, bit more warm fuzzy romantical stuff, then, Snape's trip to the family cottage! Finally we'll be leaving the house, yay! And feedback is a wonderful thing, thank you!_


	6. Blood Calls To Blood

**Author's Note: ** Hey all, some personal news. The posting gap here was because my dad died. It was about three weeks ago, it wasn't expected, but it wasn't a shock either because it's been a horrible year for various reasons. And even after the 'formalities of death' were completed and I started back to work and into my usual routine again, I didn't come back to this because I was afraid to try writing again. My fear was I wouldn't be able to finish the story, because last year when the issues first began developing with my parents' health (dad physical, mom mental) I could no longer write in my previous fandoms. I didn't find any 'comfort' in them. That's how I ended up here in the Snape/Hermione world, and even when I started here I had this worry if something else big happened with my folks that this story would whither on the vine. But, the worst happened, and somehow I was still was able to come back and get this chapter pulled together, so it looks like the center will hold! Though the chapter is not as long as I had planned it initially, (for now obvious reasons), it is done and I still felt very comfortable writing the characters, they were good for my brain, and that's what matters. Also obviously, if would be nice if you guys enjoyed the chapter too :) So, with things cut back a bit, mostly this ended up as a warm fuzzy chapter. With vampires! Sorta ;)

Again, can't stress how helpful it is here to picture the young Snape photo I've posted on Tumblr.

Direct pickup.

* * *

**Blood Calls To Blood**

Snape came back into the room with the now usual tray floating along behind him. As he approached the bed and the tray hovered between them, Hermione could see that it was carrying not only her expected hot chocolate and grilled cheese, but also a cup of tea and a slice of toast with sprinkles of what looked to be brown sugar and cinnamon. When she saw that . . . that Snape had prepared comfort food for himself and not just for her . . . her eyes began to sting again. It was the realization that the terrible story she had finally shared with him, had now become a shared burden _for_ him.

That had never been her intention.

"I am so sorry, truly, for pulling you into my hell," she whispered while watching him take a first sip of tea, "I know you've already gone through so much. You didn't deserve to have to deal with this too."

His looked down to her then, already shaking her head.

"Please do not apologize," Snape answered softly, "you need help, and at this point, that is all that matters."

Though his words were truth, it was admittedly still an emotional strain for him, because he knew that in the end he could very well be forced to mercy kill Miss Granger's parents. If it came to it though, he would do it with minimal hesitation. As he had already told her, it was not unforgiveable to give someone back their dignity.

Still . . . he took a breath . . . if he was lucky, he would find another way.

For now, he simply focused on getting Miss Granger settled with her potions and her breakfast, because he knew that in finally telling him her story, she had worn herself out both physically and mentally. He wanted her resting again. But of course he had also promised her that they would conduct another magic sharing session that morning too, so that was another task to complete. Though if Snape was honest with himself . . . and he did generally try to be . . . he was probably looking forward to the magic sharing as much, if not more, than she was. Because when Miss Granger had been telling him her story he had seen how much she was suffering, how much she had suffered that ENTIRE year(!) and all he'd wanted to do was to comfort her. But there had been no way. With the magic sharing though, he would have an excuse to hold her in a way that would comfort her properly.

Like she needed.

So he fed her the potions, and held those two fingers through the fading tremors, before moving on to the hot chocolate and the grilled cheese. It was clear though in how she pursed her lips before taking even the first bite of food, that she had little appetite, but as they moved along, he could also see that she was making herself consume every morsel and droplet without complaint simply because this was the meal that he had prepared for her.

The things he knew were her special comfort food.

And for being such a cooperative witch, after she'd swallowed down the last bite of the sandwich and he'd done a light _Evanesco_ to clear the crumbs away, he brought his hand up to brush his thumb along the shell of her ear.

He knew that she liked when he did that.

"Thank you for eating everything," he whispered when her eyes shot over to his. And noting how her breath had quickened at his touch, the corner of his lip twitched, ever so slightly.

"Are you ready now for the magic sharing session?"

Hermione was already nodding before the question was fully out of his mouth.

"Yes," she answered while shifting on the bed, "absolutely."

Finally! All she'd wanted, almost since she'd awoken, was for him to touch her like that again. So she watched anxiously as Snape banished the breakfast tray to the kitchen before moving on to pull back her blankets and help her slide her legs around on the bed. There was a momentary pause in his movements then, and from the slight crease in his brow, she could see that he was thinking. It only took her a second for her to realize what it was he was thinking about.

How best to do it this time.

Because last night, on his side, the move had been impulsive. He had already been holding her in his arms, and had wanted to give her another burst of strength and support. Now though, just having her lean against him that way seemed a bit pointlessly awkward. Especially given how her legs still weren't all that steady.

She knew that without even attempting to stand on them again.

Also, she didn't want to just lean against him, she wanted to be able to cuddle up like they had when she'd fallen to the floor. Granted, it hadn't exactly been a _romantic_ cuddle . . . utter collapse on her part triggered by a toilet flush . . . but he had pulled into his lap then, and before she'd passed out, she had been shocked at how right it had felt for him to hold her that way. Unfortunately though, she had a _slight_ concern that Snape (as proper as he was) might feel that it would be _im_proper for him to pull her into his lap again without sufficiently dire circumstances to justify such an action. So short of her literallyhurling herself at his feet for a second day in a row, he would likely need a bit of a push on her side. So she offered a solution to his problem, before he even presented the problem aloud.

"You could sit over on the folding bed with me on your um . . . knee," she offered hesitantly, "I think it would be more comfortable than holding me up."

"I do not mind holding you up," he answered immediately, almost in an absent minded tone, given how his attention had shifted over to where he had slept the night before. But then when he looked back down to her, he tipped his head.

"Your proposal does seem to be the most logical though." His brow quirked up, "and I assume you feel entirely comfortable at the thought of sitting on my _knee_ during the session?"

Her eyes crinkled then, even as she felt a spark of warmth from the tears that suddenly threatened to hover.

"Yes," she whispered back hoarsely, "I would be very comfortable with it."

His expression softened as he gave her a nod.

"Very well then," he murmured while stooping down to slip one arm under her legs and the other around her back, "that is what we shall do."

And when he straightened up, just as he had the night before, for a few seconds he stood there simply holding her close. The difference on Hermione's part though, _unlike_ the night before when she felt like she should show at least a semblance of decorum, this time she felt no hesitance at all when the thought came of tipping her head down to rest against his shoulder.

So she did.

Then she let out a sigh, one which blew a warm puff of air lightly across his throat. Her action seemed to trigger something in him, because she felt him take in a deep breath. One that he held for a few seconds. Finally he exhaled, and without a word, turned to carry her over to the camp bed across the small room. After he'd sat down on the edge of the thin mattress and settled her in his lap, (she was never going to be sitting on his knee_,_ they both knew that) he shuffled back slightly to get more comfortable. Then with one arm now loosely wrapped around her waist, the other he moved up to where he had placed it the night before.

Her neck.

"We shall do it the same way," he murmured while giving a slight tug to the back of her nightshirt to get better access. Then he started with that gentle massage, which helped in easing a little of the tension there. And after a few minutes of that, right when Hermione started to feel that deliciously warm and loose sensation starting in her muscles, there was a shift in his touch. That's when he began to focus in specifically on those pressure points again. But the tingling that she felt when his magic began to flow into her, it was very different than their first session.

Much more intense.

And she was sure that Snape felt the difference as well, because in the next instant, his fingers were curling back, and she felt just his knuckles brushing her spine.

The connection was broken.

For a moment she was scared that he was going to say that maybe it would be best if they stopped now, that it was too much. But then she felt him take another breath just before he moved his hand back to where it had been. Thank Merlin for that! Except this time when he pressed down, he actually began to massage those pressure points in the same way that he had her neck muscles just above. So that meant the resulting magical spark which came through from his touch, it felt almost electric. It was so strong that at the moment when she felt their magics swirl together, she actually gasped.

Snape did too.

But again she sent thanks to Merlin, because that time he _didn't_ stop. It wasn't until another minute or so that he finally ended the massage and just let his hand still on her skin. The connection was maintained, but without the active pressure from him, the spark morphed into something less intense. It was still definitely a stronger physical sensation than their first session, but if anything, that simply enhanced the wonder of the experience. Those feelings of warmth and safety and comfort, were flowing steadily from him and into her. They were starting from that point of contact, his fingertips, and then filling her core, before finally working up and out into her limbs and fingers and toes.

Hermione honestly could have wept with relief that the process had worked again.

And because she didn't want to be selfish, and also because she wasn't feeling quite so weak as the first time, not strong at all, but not as physically drained as the night before . . . she decided to try actively pushing back the magic on her side. She wasn't sure really if it would do anything, if maybe the person initiating the process was the one who had that control there, but when she heard Snape's breath catch in surprise, she knew that she'd done something.

"Can you feel it?" She asked softly.

And she felt his hair brush against her ear as he nodded.

"Oh, yes," he answered with a slow exhale, "it is a very notable pulse running back through the connection. I can feel the difference between your magic and mine, but the sensation when they mix together is something entirely new, and unique. It is warm, and I find it quite," he took a breath, "soothing. But," and then his voice hardened slightly as he continued on with a faint, reluctant, reproach, "you must stop now so that you can preserve your magical stores. They are depleted enough from your trauma without wasting this effort on me."

"Giving you comfort is no waste of my magic, you silly man," Hermione immediately huffed back with an exasperated sigh. My hope was that it would work the same way for you as it did for me. That it would make you feel warm and happy. And now that we know it _does _make you feel warm and happy," she reluctantly began to pull back the magical push she'd initiated a minute before, "once I'm stronger," she brought one of the hands curled in her lap, up and over to his chest, "we're definitely going to do an _equal_ magic sharing, okay?"

Though she knew just in how she knew him, that every fiber of his being wanted to tell her no, that it wasn't necessary, that it was a _waste_, she also knew how much he wanted to say yes, too. She could feel that through the connection they were still sharing from his side. It wasn't Legilimecy, but more simply an emotional reading. And what she was reading off him was a longing for what had just been taken from him.

It broke her heart.

And when she heard him say somewhat stiffly, "if you are insistent upon sharing your magic fully with me at a later date, if I feel you are strong enough, I suppose I might be amenable to such an action," she found her eyes burning, because he just couldn't admit that he _wanted _those feelings back. That would be admitting that he deserved to receive any kind of comfort. He would never.

So she did it for him.

"I am going to insist upon sharing my magic fully with you," she whispered back with a feathery brush of her gloved fingertip along his cheek, "because I want you to feel what I feel when you share yours fully with me. It will happen. This is not a negotiable point."

Then, just in case he was thinking about saying anything in the negative to _that_, she shifted slightly so she could lay her palm out flat over his heart. Feeling how fast it was beating as his breath hit her ear in a hot puff of air, brought a new sensation of warmth to her center.

It was not coming from the magic.

Part of her wanted to say something more then, but she was suddenly feeling a bit tongue tied. So instead she just closed her eyes and settled herself against his chest.

All she could feel was the warmth of his body against hers as she felt his magic continue to flow through her. It was such a pure feeling. And she found that the longer the connection lasted . . . they were coming up on at least six or seven minutes since they'd started . . . the happier she felt.

It was remarkable what his touch could do.

"If _this_ is magic sharing," she murmured after another minute, "then why doesn't everyone do it?"

It seemed for a moment that Snape might have considered her question rhetorical, and she supposed that it kind of was, but then his voice came back softly.

And he actually had a real answer for her.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "consider for one that there must be an unbreakable level of trust between both parties. After all, your magic is your true essence. You are either giving up your essence, or taking in another's. Now tell me, in those terms, how many people would you wish to share such an experience with?"

"Well, put in _those_ terms," she whispered back, "at this point in my life, I can't imagine doing this with anyone but you. Once, I guess there would have been Ron, or maybe even Harry, but I think no, actually," her nose wrinkled as she reassessed, "this would too weird with Harry. I mean, you know," she bit her lip, "it's not a sexual thing, but it is extremely," her voice faded, ". . . intimate."

The fact that she was so comfortable sharing such an intimacy with Snape was just another of those things which should have been baffling or strange, but instead just seemed very right.

Being with him just felt right.

"Yes," Snape tipped his head in agreement, "there is certainly a base intimacy to the act, but it should be noted that the literal _emotional_ exchange that we have experienced, is not common. I can say that with complete certainty because I have twice witnessed this process before, once it was two Death Eaters, and once it was members of the Order and in neither situation did any of the parties show, or indicate, any emotional affect by the experience. All the process did in those instances, was elevate the physical strength of one wizard and or witch, which then allowed him or her to subsequently enhance the strength of a complicated spell. Similar to your ability to conduct a wandless spell after our session."

"Well, if other people only get the strength," Hermione asked with a faint wrinkle of confusion in her brow, "why do we get this emotional bridge too? What makes us different?"

The question had no sooner left her lips than Hermione suddenly felt her cheeks flush, because she'd had a shimmer in her brain of what could be making them different. Still, she waited to see if Snape had a proper answer before sharing her thoughts.

"I do not know," she heard him let out on a low sigh as he shifted her slightly in his lap . . . they were now officially in a cuddle, "but offhand I suppose it could be that our magical cores are compatible, and what we are experiencing are the effects of those two separate forces finding their alignment."

"Hmm," she murmured with a twitch of her nose, "that's a thought. I am feeling very much in alignment with you, but do you really think that's it?"

"No," Snape slowly shook his head, "not really. What I actually think," he bit his lip as he paused briefly while considering how much he wished to say . . . then he decided to just say it all, "well, there is clearly a compatibility in our spirits, but I think it is more likely that the emotional intensity of the experience is being born from either a soul bond, or a simple romantic connection. It could be either, but," his jaw twisted, "given the anecdotal evidence, personally, I believe the latter is growing from the former."

It was difficult to bare his thoughts so openly, but he had spent the last ten minutes literally giving all of his essence to her just so she would feel better. If he could not then put his actions into words, then he would be a coward indeed.

And a coward he was not.

Hermione blinked in shock at what Snape had just told her . . . that they might have a soul bond. Of course she had heard of them, but she had never known anyone who had found their mate in such a way. And though she had certainly not been looking for a mate . . . with everything else going on that would have been insane . . . the idea that after spending so much of her life feeling isolated and alone, that she might truly have someone in the world who understood her on such an elemental level, it was . . . her eyes began to water . . . overwhelming. But he was right, such a theory _would_ explain the other things that were happening between them, and more specifically, the speed with which they were happening. Because upon even passing consideration, it was difficult to believe that out of the blue, she would suddenly feel so safe and content snuggled up in this man's arms. This connection they had was quite real, that was not in question, and she definitely was developing feelings of a romantic nature for him, but it wasn't as though she'd come back into his life harboring some kind of latent crush on a former professor. There had been no underlying crush.

Ever.

At first there had just been a grudging respect, which had morphed over the years of knowing him through The Order, into the type of general affection that comes simply from familiarity. By the end of the war of course, when she finally understood how truly great a man he had always been, she had felt something a bit stronger for him. The respect had certainly stopped being 'grudging' and the affection had been born of more than just familiarity, that was for sure. But now she was an adult, and being forced to consider the idea of her deeper feelings being triggered by something which had actually been buried inside her all of this time. Perhaps waiting until they were both of the right age to pursue something more. The truth of it was . . . she liked the idea of being with him.

She liked it a lot.

So she let her gloved fingers come up to brush over his collar and the unseen scar beneath. After letting them settle there for a moment, and feeling his pulse racing, she rested her head against his shoulder again.

"If it is a soul bond," she whispered with a thread of emotion in her voice, "I would actually welcome such a connection. Perhaps under other circumstances it wouldn't have been a path we would have consciously chosen, but," she took a breath, "if the universe were to give us such a beautiful gift, it would be criminal to reject it."

For a moment she felt his whole body freeze up, like he had NO Idea how to respond to that pronouncement. But then he seemed to find his center again, because he took a deep breath and tipped his head down to rest against hers.

"I agree," he murmured with a rub of his hand down her side, "and I do admit that point alone causes me some measure of curiosity because, objectively speaking, it does not make any logical sense that I would be so receptive to the idea. But I find contentment in looking after you. And when I feel you are in pain," he took a breath, "I am in pain. Perhaps that is proof of the bond, or perhaps," he slowly exhaled, "it is proof of other things. I do not know. Either way," he bit his lip, "I think we should simply let our interactions progress as they have been, and go on with the other things we must do."

Then suddenly feeling a burst of protectiveness, he added with a crease of his brow.

"And something I had wanted to say earlier and now feel compelled to, but if you ever have need to go to Transylvania again, please inform me first and I will go with you. With the vampire population as large as it is in that region, it is not safe there, even for our kind. You were very lucky not to have been attacked."

"I actually was attacked," Hermione responded softly, and feeling his whole body stiffen up, she immediately continued on, hoping to reassure him, "but I wasn't bitten. I got them before they got me."

"Them," Snape repeated the word tightly as he protectively rubbed her hip, "how many?"

And when she answered, "five," he actually blanched in horror. It was worse still when he heard her voice thicken as she explained how she'd been so careful her first week there to not be out after dark, that she knew it was unsafe. But then one day she'd finally come across the books that she'd been looking for, and had lost too many hours in that bookshop. When she'd come out, it had been after nine, and there had still been muggles about so she'd gone around the corner looking for a place to apparate back to her hotel. That's when she'd been surrounded.

"_Sectumsempra_," she continued on with a whisper, "it was the first thing that popped into my head. With one spin of my heel and wave of my wand, I'd slashed them all right across the throat," her voice faded, "I wanted to stop there, but," she bit her lip, "you know that wound doesn't kill them like it does us, it just bought me a few seconds."

"And what did you do in those few seconds?" he whispered tightly.

"_Confringo_," she answered in the same tone, "it was all I could think of that would kill them all as quickly as your curse had immobilized them . . . it was a mess."

He took a breath.

"Why did you not just apparate?" He asked gently, making sure to allow no judgment into his tone, "was there no time?"

"There was time," her voice began to thicken again, "just enough. But I knew I needed to go back to that street in the morning, and I knew that after slashing their throats, they would have been waiting for me. Just because they mostly hunt at night, it doesn't mean they can't find ways to stalk you during the day. Especially in the middle of winter," she huffed sadly, "the sun was gone there by four pm."

"Well then," he took a breath, "it sounds like you took the necessary action to stay alive. That is all that matters. Though do tell me," he continued on, keeping his tone dry to conceal his underlying concern, "outside of the cursing of your parents and the vampire executions, is there anything else you've done over this last year that I should perhaps know about now?"

"There was the werewolf in Istanbul," she answered quietly, "I slashed his throat in self defense. I also sectum'd the two wizards in London who tried to rape me. The muggle who did the same in Budapest, I let him live, though I did castrate him. He had knocked me down and had a knife at my throat, and I was so very done with the male creatures of this world trying to violate me." Her lips pursed, "I couldn't help myself."

"Oh my Miss Granger," Snape winced while tipping his head down to rest against hers, "It is an outrage that you have been so unsafe. I am developing retroactive nausea at the thought of you being attacked by these repugnant creatures."

"Yes," Hermione's jaw twisted, "it was awful, and at the same time, though I knew I didn't deserve the abuse, in a perverse way, it seemed somewhat balanced that with the evil I had done, this evil kept stalking me," then her voice started to crackle, "but I was so scared all the time."

Feeling a stab of physical pain in his chest at hearing the fear in her voice, Snape suddenly found himself rubbing his hand across her stomach as he nuzzled her ear.

"You are safe here now with me," he whispered, "and if you ever again find yourself in any danger, you must send me a Patronus at once. If there is violence to inflict, let it be by my hands. There is blood enough on them already. A little more, for a good cause, is nothing."

For a moment Hermione was silent, then he heard her sniffle as she gently settled one of her gloved hands over the one he had resting on her stomach.

"I feel that as a mate," she murmured, "you would spoil me rotten."

"That is nonsense," he cut back with a grunt, "because as your mate, it would be my job to protect you from both physical harm and any additional damage to your soul. I could do no less and still call myself a man. Now then," and he patted her stomach before she could respond . . . he could hear her choking down a sob, "though I do have the most overwhelming desire to simply sit here and talk to you for the rest of the day, a true rarity for me given my general lack of tolerance for the company of most others, we know that there are things I must do. And you," he gave a light, intimate stroke of his thumb over her hip, "if you are to heal, you must rest."

This need to hold her, and speak with her, to learn of her life, it was so unexpected. Yes, he had been feeling more of a true affection towards her since that night in St. Mungo's, an affection which had deepened while caring for her these last twenty-four hours, but these magic sharing sessions truly had intensified his feelings. He felt both physically and emotionally connected to her in a way that he never had with anyone before.

Not even Lily during the strongest days of their friendship.

His acceptance of this truth, that things were different with Miss Granger on such fundamental levels, gave additional credence to the likelihood that it was a genuine soul bond which existed between them.

The thought brought a true ache to his chest.

Because to have such a bond with _any_ witch, let alone a witch like this one, so young and brilliant, and beautiful, and who so shockingly seemed as receptive to the idea of bonding as he was, he almost did not dare to believe it could be true. He bit his lip.

It seemed a dream.

"Can we do this again later, or tomorrow?" Hermione asked softly, and she felt Snape's cheek brushing her ear as he murmured, "I would like that. Whatever type of connection this is we are experiencing, for data gathering purposes, I do wish to explore this physical aspect of it further. If you are amendable, of course."

"I am very amenable," Hermione answered while pulling back so she could catch his eyes, "so much so, that I am ignoring how entirely _clinical_ and unromantic your 'data gathering' response was."

Even as his mouth quivered at her dry tone . . . they might actually make a good match on that front . . . Snape still found himself wincing slightly at her reproach.

Joke or not, she had a bit of a point.

"Apologies," he whispered with a brush of his thumb along her lip . . . he saw her breath catch, "but you must know, pragmatism over ardor is what you would generally need to expect with me."

"I do know," Hermione answered on a slow breath as she looked up into Snape's unblinking stare, "and I would be disappointed if I were to find you behaving any other way. I would know that this, whatever it is, was making you into someone you're not." She shook her head slowly, "I wouldn't want that to happen."

His brow darkened.

"I would not want that for you either. So if you feel your natural instincts are being influenced by any kind of extraneous," his jaw twisted, "_manipulation_, you must say something at once. I will do the same. I do not desire a connection not maintained by genuine affection, and at this point I believe we at least have built that much entirely on our own. Agreed?"

Her expression softened.

"Agreed. And now that that point is settled," she continued on with a deep breath as she felt his hand fall away . . . their connection was broken, "if you're going to be out for a few hours I should probably use the bathroom."

"Right," Snape nodded as he again pulled her into his arms and slowly came back to his feet, "I was going to ask the question before I brought you back to bed."

So he brought her out of the sitting room and down the hall to the bathroom she'd used the night before. Fortunately he had left the spell over the mirror so it was still blackened when they entered the small room.

It was as he was gently placing Miss Granger down onto the tile that he heard her murmur, "you know ordinarily my morning routine would include at least a general wash up, but I guess that's not really possible today, is it?"

There was a clear melancholy in her words, and though Snape understood her comments to be more rhetorical than not, he still found himself answering her as though it was an actual question.

"Showering is probably out of the question for the remainder of the week," he stated while letting his hands settle on her hips . . . her legs definitely seemed steady, "simply because I believe a spray of any force hitting your newly born flesh, would be quite uncomfortable."

Noting how Miss Granger's face blanched at the image he had painted in her head, Snape quickly continued on with a, "however, I think by tomorrow evening, you should be recovered enough for a bath. And as to your hair," he slid one arm fully around her waist so he could shake his wand out with his other hand. Then he gave it a wave over her head while muttering a quick cleansing spell. The newly shorn locks ruffled as though blown by a light breeze, and he saw Miss Granger's expression immediately brighten.

Her happiness pleased him.

"Oh," she let out a relieved sigh when she looked up at him, "that feels so much better, thank you."

He tipped his head.

"Of course. Now then," he raised his eyebrow while giving her a once over, "you are feeling strong enough for me to let you go, yes?"

"Yes, definitely," she answered him with a quick nod, "same process as last night, though this time," she added with a sheepish eye roll, "I promise not to blow out the last bit of shared magic by flushing the toilet."

"Indeed," he answered with an eye roll, "it would be helpful for my life expectancy if we could avoid a repeat of that experience."

Noting her amusement at his response, Snape couldn't help but note how pretty her eyes were when they sparkled. Though of course this was not the time for him to indulge in such things, so with a final, somewhat worried pat of her side, he slowly pulled his arm away. Once he was sure she was still standing steady, he backed out of the room.

"Call me when you are ready," was the last thing Snape said before he stepped into the hall, and Hermione gave him a quick nod right as he pulled the door shut. A split second later her clothes (again sans gloves) had disappeared, so she carefully shuffled over to use the toilet as she had the night before.

Fortunately she had no trouble at all that time with the wandless cleansing . . . with as much of Snape's magic still swirling through her body, she felt capable of wandlessly painting the entire house . . . and it was only a minute before she was ready to call him back into the room.

When Snape returned (with his eyes again averted) waving his wand to reclothe her, to her surprise, Hermione found herself suddenly dressed in a new nightshirt (it was dark blue) and new underpants. Though she didn't actually see the pants . . . she was only wearing them for a split second before the nightshirt had covered them over . . . the legs had a notably looser fit than the ones she'd been wearing before.

It was clearly not the same pair.

When she looked up at Snape with a curious brow, he shrugged.

"The comment on your washing up," he explained while walking closer, "reminded me that the least I could offer you today would be clean clothing. The nightshirt is obviously another one of mine that I also relined in silk for your healing comfort. The undergarment," he pulled a small black handkerchief from his pocket, "I transfigured one of these." His eyebrow inched up, "do they fit all right?"

Her eyes crinkled . . . he was so sweet.

"They do," she nodded while watching watched him tuck the handkerchief away again, "thank you. That was very thoughtful."

It was then when he stooped down to fix her socks . . . they'd slid down to her ankles . . . that his hair fell forward, obscuring half his profile. As he straightened up again, Hermione found herself reaching out with a gloved hand to brush it back.

Merlin, she could not wait until she could run her bare fingers through those strands.

"I like to see your face," she murmured with a bit of a blush, and as he let his hands fall back to her waist he let out a faint snort of, "you would be the first."

"Hush now," she answered with gentle pat to his chest, "it bothers me to hear you put yourself down."

For a moment Snape just looked at her, biting his lip. Then he took a breath.

"A degree of self deprecation is normal for me," he explained quietly, "it is how I have always existed in the world. However," he tipped his head, "in the _reverse_, I can see how it would be troublesome to me, if you were to denigrate your own appearance or abilities. So," his jaw twisted slightly, "I will be mindful of that point in the future."

Hermione's lip quirked up slightly as Snape punctuated his last word with a wandless flush of the toilet. So she shuffled forward the last half step to lean against his chest . . . he immediately folded her into an embrace.

"Being mindful is all I ask," she whispered against his collar, "so thank you for listening to me. And now I am definitely ready to lie down again. I thought I could paint a house with the amount of your magic I had in me, but," she bit back a yawn, "those wandless spells are still quite draining."

The words had no sooner left her mouth, than Hermione felt Snape shifting his hold on her body so he could scoop her back up and into his arms. As he tucked her against his chest he was muttering, "we cannot risk a collapse like yesterday," and then he started them out of the bathroom.

They were halfway down the hall when Hermione cleared her throat.

"At the cottage," she spoke softly, as she now focused her thoughts on the trip Snape would be taking once she was back in bed, "when you come out of the floo, you'll be in my lab. You know that will be a mess from the explosion, but fortunately the cauldron was across the room from my desk and the written notes I've been compiling. Most of the books I've gathered from those trips, you'll find in my room. It was easier to read in there."

"Right," he murmured as they reentered the sitting room, "and the lab is on the main floor?"

That was his presumption, given how unusual it would be for muggles to build a fireplace in the basement of any personal dwelling that was not technically a castle. So it was of no surprise when he felt Hermione nod against his shoulder, while answering softly, "yes, main floor, I converted the dining room into the lab because it's on the back side of the house. The windows I covered over to appear as brick from the outside," then she winced slightly, "oh Merlin, I hope the explosion didn't blow them out."

"But you covered them over with a _spell_, yes?" Snape asked as they approached the bed, and hearing her affirmative, "yes, but . . ." he immediately cut her off before she could get herself anymore worked up.

"Miss Granger," he stated flatly, while leaning over to place her on the mattress, "a potion explosion, no matter how powerful, would not affect the spell, unless the potion itself had actually been designed to _defeat_ the spell. It was not." He gave her a look, "the windows will be fine."

Then before she could say anything else, he quickly defluffed her pillow and fixed her blankets. Once she was settled under the covers, he turned to go over and get her sleeping potion. A quick tempus told him that it was also close enough now to the twelve hour mark . . . ten point seven five hours, but again, close enough . . . to let her have the other pain potion as well.

It wasn't until he turned back around that he saw the tears which had filled Miss Granger's eyes. His jaw twitched at the sight of them, because it was one of the few times in his life that when it came to reading a witch's mood, he actually had a fair idea as to what the problem was at that moment. So when he walked back to the bed, he reached out brush his fingers through her hair.

It was softer for the cleansing spell.

"I will check on your parents as soon as I arrive," he stated with a look, "and send you a Patronus immediately so that you can sleep well knowing that they are all right. Does this offer you some comfort?"

"Yes," she sniffled, "thank you. I mean, I know that they should still be fine, but just thinking about you seeing what they've become, I . . ."

And she trailed off, so he brought his hand down to cup the back of her neck.

"I know you are worried," he whispered, "and I have felt how broken your spirit is over their condition, that grieves me. But we are now taking the first steps to fix what has gone wrong. It is unlikely I will make much progress today, but," he gave her a firm nod, "we will get there. And while we are working together on that solution, you," he gave her a pointed look, "you will be my brave, utterly brilliant, witch."

Seeing her nod as she gave him a watery smile, he paused for a moment, before asking with a bit of hesitation.

"Are you sure you have no reservations?"

"Am I sure I have no reservations about what?" She asked with a confused sniff.

He just looked at her, and seeing the flicker of embarrassment on his face as he whispered, "about being my mate," she felt her expression softening.

"Don't be a muppet," she answered with a faint huff. And seeing his look of indignation at her basically calling him an idiot, she ended up letting out a faint giggle, because even when she had no intention of winding him up, it was so easy to do so. All she'd wanted was for him to see how silly he was being. As though of the two of them, she was actually the 'catch, here. A depressed, emotionally broken witch, with a post war body count that could already be counted on two hands. Not even to mention the casting of the Unforgivable on her own parents.

It was lucky he hadn't already tossed her out into the street and warded the doors.

"Give me my potions please," she huffed while reaching out to pat his arm, "and then go before I start crying again."

Even after she made the request, it took a moment for him to respond . . . he was still giving her a hefty scowl for the muppet comment . . . but finally he picked up the two phials he had placed on the bed, and began to pull off the first of the toppers. By the time she had swallowed down the last drop of the pain potion, his expression had evened out again. And when she let out a happy sigh of, "oh my, that does feel nice," as the endorphins began to release, she saw his lips twitch slightly. And though he did quickly school his features, as he did a final tweak of her pillow and blankets, Hermione found herself reaching out to catch his sleeve.

When he looked down at her in surprise, she gave him a soft, sad, smile.

"To be clear," she whispered, "if we are bonded, that would make me so proud, because it would mean," her voice began to crackle then, "that the universe has decided to pair me with one of the finest wizards alive today. After all I have done, this astounds me. And I don't know if I still deserve you, but being with you feels right. Regardless, I know that we will both need more time to fully adjust to these changes, but one thing that I already know for sure, and I just wanted you to know it too, is that if we pursue this connection to its natural evolution, you will end up making me a wonderful mate because you are already a wonderful man," as she saw his eyes begin to fill, she gave him a firm nod, "and that's all I'm going to say for today."

Snape blinked twice and straightened up with a slight clearing of his throat.

"You have said quite enough," he answered with a haughty cough. Then, just to be sure that she knew he wasn't really upset, he shot her a wink, one which actually made her blush as her mouth quivered.

He reached out to stroke his thumb along the corner of her lip.

"I will send the Patronus shortly," he whispered, "and by the time you wake up, I will be back here again."

So with one last look, he let his hand fall away. Then he turned, accio'd his robe from the hall closet, and headed over to the fireplace.

With her stomach once again aching, Hermione watched nervously as Snape fixed his robe around his shoulders before pulling out his wand and reaching for a handful of floo powder. It was time.

She cleared her throat.

"Six Parish Road, St. Ives, Cornwall," she called out from across the room. And he nodded while repeating the address and tossing in the powder. The flames turned green . . . he took a step . . . and disappeared.

From there, Hermione began to count off the seconds, and then the minutes, waiting for his Patronus to appear. Realistically she knew that it would likely take at least four or five minutes for him to make sure that the house was secure before he went in search of her parents up on the second floor. Still, that didn't help her nerves as the minutes slowly ticked away. Mostly her anxiety was being fed by the fear that the sleeping potion would kick in before the Patronus appeared and then all she would do was dream that everything had gone more wrong than it already was.

And it was just as she felt her eyes begin to get that heavy blink, that suddenly a silver streak came bounding into the room.

Though the animal was not the one she was expecting . . . it actually filled her with delight when she saw what it was . . . when the creature spoke, it was in the deep, familiar, tone, that she knew so well.

"_Your parents were fine, the house was secure, the lab is a mess. I will be home in a few hours. Sleep well. And yes, we have confirmation the bond is real, as you can see that it has already transformed my Patronus. I curse your love of these damn fuzzy animals. If you do not end up with a reptile I will be most disappointed."_

The last was said just before the silver figure disappeared. And Hermione couldn't help but let out a giggle at the snarky words which had come from the adorable creature standing in front of her.

Snape's Patronus had turned into a baby Koala Bear.

It was the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

Her mouth began to quiver at the thought of the most imposing wizard she knew, now being magically represented out in the world, by a fuzzy little bear. She rolled half onto her side as she was overcome simultaneously by both a yawn from the sleeping potion and another snort of amusement at Snape's new Patronus.

Oh Merlin . . . she huffed as her eyes began to fall shut . . . he was never going to let her forget this!

* * *

_A/N 2: So obviously I settled on the soul bond vs the 'normal' attraction. With them already engaging in the magic sharing, it just started to feel like a more natural way to make them both much become comfortable (much more quickly) with the shifting undercurrents in their relationship. And with her still incapacitated, it is an excuse for them to have real physical contact too, because they can't currently hold hands like a regular 'fledgling' couple would do. _

_And Hermione also racked up quite the body count while she was on her own, but it's difficult enough being a woman in the world, and then I figure you're immersing yourself in the world of dark magic you'll be visiting all of these shady AF wizarding 'neighborhoods' and you're going to run into bad people/creatures in all of them. Bad people do bad things, so there you go._

_In England, (if you are not English you may not know this) a "muppet" is a stupid person. In America, a muppet is a fuzzy talking puppet. By either definition, it very much amused me for Hermione to assign that as her term of endearment for Snape, which is what she just did :) He will be her "muppet," because I just didn't see any normal terms of endearment working for my version of them. Otherwise, yes, they are still using their formal terms for one another, but that's because things are changing for them emotionally, faster than their brains have adjusted. Their brains will catch up._

_The Patronus. If they were going to be genuinely bonded, (my theory is the magic sharing accelerated things) it had to change. And hers will as well, but obviously she can't hold her wand yet so she can't check it yet. Also, how could I send her to Transylvania and not have a vampire run-in?_

_Hoping from here that posting will go back to a regular routine. Clearly I am ending up with more chapters than I had planned to start (I'd thought 7 and I'm already at 6 with only a kick at the actual plot) but we've just had more 'live' conversations than I'd expected we would. But live is generally better than narrative for relationship stories so, I have no regrets. We're getting there :)_

_Thanks for reading everyone! Always love the feedback :)_


	7. Trip to the Cottage & A Dose of Dittany

**Author's Note:** Thank you everyone for the expressions of sympathy, and the general notes on the last chapter. So glad you're all enjoying things so far :) More cuddly bits ahead, and actual plot developments. Finally!

* * *

**A Trip To The Cottage & A Dose Of Dittany**

Snape paused in the doorway of Miss Granger's bedroom, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at what he saw before him. Though the woman's love of books was legendary, and it certainly rivaled his own, even he was somewhat shocked to see the stacks piled around on the hardwood floor.

They literally filled the room.

Even the furniture was stacked four to six high with volumes of what appeared to be both magical and muggle books, which would indicate her collection predated her research of the last year. The only relatively open space was the bed placed against the far wall. It had just three open books laid out on top of the blue flowered quilt.

Most likely her active reading pile.

And after he had stepped over the threshold, Snape began carefully making his way through the small, winding, path that Miss Granger had left to move about the room. Occasionally he paused to run his finger over a spine here or there. Feeling the dark energy that was pulsing through so many of the books, he was absolutely horrified. This was Miss Granger's bedroom.

And every night, she had literally been DROWNING in dark magic.

Her sleeplessness and extreme weight loss made even more sense to him now. Because this hellish environment working in conjunction with the overwhelming guilt that had been gnawing at her since casting the curse on her parents, it was a wonder that she had not been driven mad. And it was going to take him potentially WEEKS to wade through these volumes to see if she may have missed something important. Of course under most other circumstances, Snape would have trusted her judgment without question on matters related to any type of research, but she had clearly not been at her best as of late. But Merlin, his head was beginning to ache just thinking about having to read some of these books. From his own early (foolish) interests, and then the subsequent years with the Death Eaters, he clearly had spent much time studying the darkest of dark magic, more than just what was needed in the defense against the dark arts, so he was intimately familiar with too many of these titles. If given a choice, he would not choose to read them again now. There was evil here.

And it was a world he had hoped to leave behind.

But alas . . . his lips pursed . . . this was the burden he would bear for this witch who had become so important to him. And in an effort to get back to her as quickly as possible, because truly, all he wanted was to be near her, he set a spell on the books filling the room, to help him sort through them a little faster. The intent of the spell was to have every volume which mentioned the phrase, "memory charm" (in any language), put out a red glow. Unfortunately though, after he had finished the incantation, the entire room was suddenly lit up like one of those tacky Christmas displays the muggles so loved. He rolled his eyes.

Clearly he was going to have to do this the hard way.

So with a heavy sigh, he waved his wand over the stack of glowing books closest to him, there were six in total, shrunk it down, and tucked the lot of them into a large satchel he accio'd from a hook on the back of Miss Granger's closet door. Once that was done, he repeated the same basic steps to gather up the three open books on the bed, though he tagged them to glow in green to differentiate Miss Granger's active reading from the general stacks of books she had collected in her travels.

His plan for the day was to begin collecting this research of hers to bring it home with him for further review there. Once Miss Granger was fully healed, it was likely that they would need to move into the cottage simply to look after her parents, but for now he was going to be using his own lab as a base because, well, he preferred using his own lab. Period.

So with the first stacks of books collected . . . enough reading to last at least the next the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, depending on how much translation would be required . . . and the satchel under his arm, he retreated from that room, and headed back along the uncarpeted upstairs hallway, to the bedroom of the elder Grangers.

It was a most depressing room.

Not due to the décor, which could probably, objectively, be described as "cheerful" with its sunny yellow walls and seascape family photos, but the aura in there it was . . . he bit his lip . . . black. So black, it gave him a slight headache just walking into the room. Whether it was from the _Imperio_ itself (such a horrifically dark curse would leave a correspondingly dark aura anywhere) or simply the situation, he had not yet decided. Either way, it was not a place he wished to linger. Unfortunately though, linger he must.

Because there were still things to be done for, and to, Miss Granger's parents.

After the Patronus had been sent verifying they were still in their original stasis, he had performed a few diagnostics on the older couple, and as Miss Granger had indicated earlier, outside of their neurological functions, they were both in near perfect health. The key problem seemed to be their brain wave activity.

It was almost non-existent.

But given his plans to be in the house for a few hours anyway, he had decided to remove them from their stasis so they could eat and exercise before he had to put them back to sleep again. Fortunately Miss Granger had posted her 'modified infant care charm' quite prominently on the refrigerator door in the kitchen, so once he had made a copy, all he had needed to do, was to follow her very precise instructions. So after he had awoken her parents, a few quick incantations later, he had them on their feet, and marching in place by the bed. He stayed there watching the two of them as they moved on to a series of jumping jacks, and then push-ups. It was fascinating, though also extremely unsettling, to see how they moved in complete synchronicity, from one activity to another. Damage from the _Imperio_, was his theory for their behavior. And having read on the infant charm notations that the exercise routine lasted for exactly forty-five minutes, that was when he had decided to start going through Miss Granger's books. Now though, with it coming up on forty-_one_ minutes since he had set the charm, he was watching as the Grangers cycled down through a final series of stretches. When those were finished they literally froze in place, right there in the middle of the room.

With their vacant, slightly slack jawed expressions, it was quite an alarming image.

And again, the fact that for months now, with no support from anyone, his poor Miss Granger had been LIVING in this hell with these empty shells that had once been her parents, made him feel slightly ill. No matter if they had discovered this bond between them or not, knowing what he knew now about the state her family was in, he could never have left her to deal with this alone.

It would have been unforgivable in the purest sense.

But also knowing that he needed to learn the steps of the care charm as well as Miss Granger knew them . . . again, he did expect they would be moving into this house . . . with the exercise routine now complete, he pulled his copy of the charm from his robe and read over the lavatory section. Then he spoke the next spell. This one was focused solely on Mrs. Granger alone. And once he was done speaking and had waved his wand, he saw her blink those vacant eyes just once, right before she turned and walked slowly over to the bathroom on the other side of the master bedroom.

She stepped inside and closed the door.

When she returned a minute later . . . he had even heard the toilet flush and the sound of water running, the charm was clearly quite detailed . . . he set the same incantation on her husband. After he had completed his trip to the lavatory, Snape sent the two of them back to sit on the bed again. For a moment then, he just stood there looking at them with their mouths half open, staring blankly at the wall.

It was horrifying.

So though it made no sense, he walked over and turned on the small black and white television sitting on top of the bookcase across the room. Then he spun back around, and with a muttered spell and some movements of both his wand and his wrists, he adjusted the positions of the couple sitting on the bed. Once he was done, they were lying back, leaning up against the headboard and staring over at the moving pictures. To say that they were 'watching' the images on the screen would be a MARKED overstatement, but he at least felt a little better about leaving them alone in this position, than the other. Because as Miss Granger had said, it was clear that there was no higher brain function currently being demonstrated, but least now he could see some ocular engagement as their pupils tracked the images on the screen.

Good enough.

So with that, he headed downstairs, and after he had dug through the kitchen to find that the Grangers' cupboards were almost as bare as his own . . . he was now definitely stopping at the shops for both houses before he went home . . . he did a magical prep of two bowls of oatmeal with a spoonful of honey in each, thrown in solely for flavor. Though again, these people clearly did not know what was going on in their world, it still seemed wrong to not treat them with the respect he would if they were as they used to be. And he had met the elder Grangers a few times over the years. Always in Diagon Alley, always looking so simultaneously proud of their grinning daughter in front of them, and terrified of the world she had pulled them into. They had consistently managed a few minutes of intelligent conversation though. Every time. And they had also created the unique brilliance that was his Miss Granger, so clearly there had been some true intelligence there. It would be a tragedy to leave such minds so vacant.

If it was him in such a state, he would welcome the Avada as an old friend.

But it served no point to dwell on such things, not when there was so much to be done. So after he had waved his hand to send the bowls of oatmeal, accompanied with silver spoons and glasses of juice, levitating up the stairs, he again pulled out his wand, this time to recite the last section of the modified care charm.

This would ensure that the Grangers ate their meal without the need for his supervision.

And with that, he moved on to the rest of his planned activities for this trip. They were, in no precise order, to clean Miss Granger's lab, repair any structural damage caused by the explosion, collect whatever research notes or books which had been blown _about_ the lab, and hopefully salvage any of the more exotic potion ingredients that she had picked up in her global travels so he would not have to go to the ends of the earth to collect them _again._ It took him almost two hours to get all of that done, which put him at a little over three hours since he had left Miss Granger alone. And not really wishing to leave her that much longer . . . it had already been too far by half . . . he figured it was time to get her parents back to stasis so he could do his run to the shops, and finally head home to Spinner's End.

It was as he was walking towards the stairs that he suddenly took note of the small basket sitting just inside the door of the sitting room. He stopped short, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

The basket contained a cat.

For some reason he had completely forgotten about Miss Granger's familiar. And to that end, he was surprised that Miss Granger herself had not mentioned it in their earlier discussions. But as he was staring at the animal, that was when he realized that she had also put the _cat_ under stasis, so she had likely figured that he would be fine until she could get back to the cottage herself in a few days. And likely he would be, but as Snape stared down at the sleeping ball of fur, he unexpectedly flashed on an afternoon of a few years earlier in Grimmauld Place. It was an image of a bushy haired Miss Granger sitting in the library dancing a piece of twine for her beloved, "Crooks."

The delighted peals of laughter as the cat chased the enchanted string around the room.

His expression softened as he stooped down . . . the cat was coming with him. But he didn't actually wish to deal with a live, wriggling, animal for the remainder of his excursion . . . he still needed to do the shopping . . . so he simply tucked the cat into the satchel where he had put everything else. Fortunately with 'everything else,' having been shrunken down individually to fit within his palm, there was plenty of room for the sleeping feline.

And now . . . he took a weary breath and reluctantly looked to the stairs . . . time to send the Grangers back to stasis.

/*/*/*/

Almost fifty minutes later, when Snape stepped through his floo, he had the over filled satchel, (complete with Still Under Stasis cat), hanging over his left arm, and two small paper sacks of shrunken down groceries tucked under the right. As he walked across the room, he was relieved to see that Miss Granger was still sleeping.

While standing in line at the market with a nearly full trolley full of items, he had felt some concern that his trip had taken too long and she had already awoken and, possibly in pain, had been waiting on him. Fortunately that had not been the case. So after he had sent the groceries off to the kitchen still in their miniaturized state . . . he needed to sort out what was staying at his house and what was going to the cottage . . . he put the satchel down on the carpet.

He pulled out the cat.

Then he took out his wand, stepped back to a safe distance just in case, and released the feline from Miss Granger's spell. It took only a moment for her animal to shake off its lethargy. And then he watched as it walked around the room, sniffing various items with varying degrees of interest, before it finally got to the bed. The moment it caught the scent of his mistress, he began to purr. Then he jumped up on the covers and started to circle the sleeping body. The purring increased in volume.

It was clear that he had missed her.

Still, Snape was about to shoo the cat down . . . he was concerned about Miss Granger's injuries and the cat's potential to exacerbate them . . . when suddenly the witch in question, woke up. And seeing how her face lit up when she spotted her pet while she simultaneously cried out a sleepy, though excited, "oh my Crooks!" he clearly did not have it in him to separate the two.

Not without very good cause anyway.

"He is not likely to scratch you, correct?"

His question was asked hesitantly, and Miss Granger, with that huge ball of fluff now sitting in her lap, looked over at him with a confused smile.

"Of course not," she answered with a gentle pat of the cat's fur . . . still with the gloves of course, "this is my boy. The only time he's ever scratched me was when we had to do an emergency apparation home from Turkey, but we had a rough landing, so his agitation was entirely my fault."

Then her smile softened.

"Thank you so much for bringing him back with you. I had wanted to ask for him, but I was afraid it would be too much of an imposition to have him here in the house."

Feeling his brow furrow slightly, Snape walked up to the bed.

"Miss Granger," he responded quietly, "your Crooks is welcome here, because he is yours. But believe it or not, I am actually fond of cats. As a species, they are clean, intelligent animals who require little oversight. Certainly they are on the whole, more appealing housemates than most of the children I have taught. In truth," he added with a bite of his lip, "I had considered acquiring one of their breed when I first began teaching. It was a very lonely time, but it had seemed selfish to take in a creature with a two decade lifespan, when I fully expected to be dead by thirty."

Seeing how Miss Granger winced at this statement, Snape realized that referencing his death so casually might be somewhat upsetting for her. Especially given how he did in fact, _die_, however briefly, a little over a year ago. So his concerns on that point had in fact been very well founded. But now that he was alive again, he did not wish for her worry about things that he no longer worried about himself. So with a faint quirk of his lip, he reached out to brush his fingers through her hair.

"Bur with the Dark Lord finally dead," he continued speaking, now while stroking her earlobe with his thumb, "and the average natural lifespan for wizards in my family being one hundred and forty-two, I feel it is probably safe now for me to get a pet."

Hermione let out a soft giggle at Snape's words, before she looked between him and Crookshanks.

"Crooks might allow me to share him with you."

Feeling his chest warming, Snape gave Miss Granger a slow nod.

"If the feline is amendable, I would be as well."

Another benefit of the bond . . . a pet. It was not something he had considered for quite some time, but as he had just told her, he was fond of cats, and he was _very_ fond of Miss Granger, so taking them both together as a 'packaged deal' . . . which he believed was the muggle term . . . he would be quite satisfied. And seeing Miss Granger now whispering in the cat's ear, right before the feline let out a muffled meow, followed immediately by another giggle from the woman on the bed, he could not help the twitching of his lips. Apparently he was going to be allowed co-ownership.

A very satisfactory outcome.

And with that point now settled, he had acquired a cat . . . he made a mental note to research charms for removing cat hair from his garments . . . Snape moved on to updating Miss Granger on the events of the morning. As expected, she was relieved to hear that he had briefly removed her parents from stasis to allow them a day of food and exercise, and with her saying she generally felt much better physically than she had upon awaking that morning, (he was sure that was a result of their second magic sharing session) he agreed that she could skip the planned afternoon dose of sleeping potion.

That way she could help him to begin going through her research.

So once he had gotten her hair re-growth potion brewing, a task which he had forgotten to do that morning, but had been reminded of upon seeing that lovely face still missing half an eyebrow, he enlarged and unpacked their groceries so they could have lunch. With the cupboards once more full, and Snape having picked up quite a few traditional muggle items to help Miss Granger feel more at home (and to just generally encourage her to eat) their meal options had greatly expanded. Lunch was prawn crisps and cheese and pickle sandwiches, followed by her basic potions, and then five hours of research. Though together they found a few areas of interest in the first batch of 'gold' books that Miss Granger had not yet had time to fully explore, they most definitely did not find any 'magical' key to unlock her parents' brains.

That was unfortunate of course, but certainly no surprise at all.

And with both of them mentally exhausted from delving into such unseemly matters for so many hours, at seven pm Snape declared their 'work day' to be over. Obviously he wanted the books on dark magic to be kept nowhere near Miss Granger or her sleeping area.

With a wave of his hand, they were banished to his lab in the cellar.

So then for their supper they had potato and cheese pasties with tea, while Crookshanks happily settled himself in the kitchen with a plate of canned tuna. After everything had been cleaned up, and Snape had checked on the status of the hair re-growth potion . . . coming along nicely . . . he then transfigured an old pillow into an oversized cat bed and set it on the hearth. Fortunately there was already a magical barrier set up to prevent sparks from escaping from the fire itself, so he had no fear of the cat accidentally being, 'set ablaze,' or something else equally traumatizing for Miss Granger.

That would be a very unfortunate end to the day.

So once the cat was done eating and settled in on his new pillow, languidly grooming himself from top to tail, Snape moved on to levitate the reading chair from his upstairs bedroom down to place next to the cat bed.

His feeling was that there no longer had to be any pretext for how he and Miss Granger physically interacted. If he was going to have her sitting in his lap for extended periods of time, which he most certainly was, they were bloody well going to be in the most comfortable seat in the house while doing so. And once he had the wireless playing _Moonlight Sonata_ softly in the background, and his witch was settled into his lap . . . though this time with her wrapped up in the silk/flannel blanket to make sure her limbs did not catch a chill . . . Snape repeated the steps which were now becoming second nature to him. First the neck massage, necessary to make sure Miss Granger was fully relaxed before they began the exchange, and then shifting his focus completely to the pressure points on her shoulders.

It only took a moment for the spark to ignite.

And that time he was prepared for the intensity of it when their magics swirled together, he actually welcomed how strong it was, because it was in that moment when his lifetime of loneliness was suddenly abated.

Miss Granger's magic literally _tethered_ him to her.

It was something he had never had before, this sense of truly belonging to someone else. It was the one thing that he had always so desperately wanted, and to have it now after all he had lost, it was . . . his lips pursed as he nuzzled her ear . . . divine. And for the first few minutes after the spark, they did not even speak, she just snuggled in his lap as he gently rubbed her stomach under the blanket. If asked, he would have admitted, quite freely, that to spend hours on end with this witch, exactly like this, would have been an entirely satisfactory use of his limited time here on earth. Eventually though, he felt the body in his arms begin to shift slightly, and then she took a breath.

Apparently it was time to talk.

"I've been curious about a few things in your past," Miss Granger started speaking softly, with a brush of her fingers over his chest, "but if they aren't topics you wish to discuss, just say so and I promise not to ask about them again."

"What are these topics of curiosity?" he responded with a slight tightening in his voice, because truly, most of the prominent memories of his life to date were painful to look back upon.

There was little in his past that he wished to revisit.

But he also knew, and accepted, that if he hoped to maintain this bond in a healthy manner, one which would ensure the indefinite survival of their romantic relationship, he was going to have to discuss his life with this woman. Not all of it, at least certainly not all of it right away, but to answer a few of her questions today, well . . . he took a breath . . . he could manage that much for her sake.

_Their_ sake.

So he waited, fully expecting (and dreading) that Miss Granger's curiosities would revolve around his time with the Dark Lord because they had spent so much time that day discussing dark magic. Instead though, she came out with a question from nowhere.

"Those photos out in the front hallway, who are those people in them?"

The question was so benign, he blinked in surprise.

"They are . . . muggles," he answered slowly, "my father's family. Myfamily. I am sure you must be aware by now that I am a half blood. This house belonged to the Snapes. My mother's family, the Princes, that is my magical line. For the last five hundred or so years, they were based around Canterbury."

There, the question was fully answered, and additional information was then voluntarily shared. That was quite progressive of him. But then he felt Miss Granger take a breath just as her hand came down to cover his.

Apparently this topic was not yet closed.

"_Were based_," she repeated his phrasing with what was some obvious reluctance, "so are you the last of the line?"

"Yes," he bit his lip, "my mother was disinherited for marrying my father. She was an only child, and her parents were killed during the First Wizarding War."

"Oh . . ." Hermione started to cut in with an expression of sympathy, but Snape cut it off with a gentle pat of her stomach.

"It was no loss. They were monsters who would have had you gutted simply for existing, and that," he cleared his throat, "is all I wish to say about my grandparents."

Ordinarily, that question would have caused him pain knowing the atrocities those two had committed against the muggle born and knowing too that he carried their cursed blood in his veins. But now, today, he was simply sharing information. Still, there was silence for a moment, and then Miss Granger curled slightly in his lap so she could tuck her head down under his chin.

The action pleased him.

Then she whispered against his throat.

"Did you ever have any siblings?"

Another question which would have, under other circumstances, caused a degree of emotional discomfort, but coming from her, oddly, it was not as upsetting. Perhaps because if she was now to be his mate, then she would be his true family.

This thought made the facts of his biological history, sting a little less.

"No," he answered with a soft sigh, "no siblings. When I was very young, three or four perhaps, I recall seeing my mother's belly swollen with another child. I do not know how long she carried it, but at some point there was a fight. Father did not want another 'freak' in his house, his words, and he shoved her down the stairs. I was too small to do anything but watch her fall. And he would not allow her to go St. Mungo's for proper treatment, so she was stuck with muggle doctors practicing old muggle medicine. The baby was lost, and there was damage," his voice faded, "she never got pregnant again."

Feeling Miss Granger's body stiffen up, he knew that his words had struck some nerve with her.

"Bu, but that's the same thing that happened with _my_ mother," she stammered back in surprise, "I mean not the horrible abuse, I'm so sorry about that, but complications from a miscarriage resulted in permanent damage to her reproductive organs. I was seven. Strange we would have such a randomly specific thing in common."

Snape's brow wrinkled.

"It is a rather odd, but I do not think it means anything given the generally deplorable state of muggle medicine. Though if we were to procreate, I imagine it would be prudent for you to undergo special monitoring to ensure that history does not tragically repeat with our line."

Then, realizing what he had said . . . something which it was ENTIRELY too soon to be discussing . . . Snape winced and closed his eyes. But before he could speak again, perhaps to make things potentially even more awkward than he just had . . . Merlin help him and his lack of experience in such matters . . . he heard Miss Granger clear her throat.

"I haven't actually decided yet about having children," she stated softly, "that was a major point of contention with Ron. Of course with his family," she huffed affectionately, "he wanted a full brood, five or six in Weasley terms, and I was hovering around maybe having one, maybe, at some point in the future."

"I too am uncertain about having children," Snape came back quickly, relieved that she was not unsettled by his comment about them reproducing together, "in truth, up until a moment ago, I had probably given the idea no consideration to date. But now, with you . . ."

And he trailed off, not wishing to put the rest of his thoughts into words. That he had never considered children because had assumed he would die young, and most definitely alone. But now there was a beautiful witch in his lap. And his death was no longer imminent. With her he could have a future.

His eyes began to burn.

He had never had one of those before.

And perhaps Miss Granger could sense his emotions through the bond, or perhaps she was a true empath, but either way, he suddenly felt her shift in his lap right before she pressed a kiss to his throat.

It was right over his scar.

"Do not be sad, muppet," she murmured with a gentle brush of her fingers along his cheek, "you have time now. Time enough for everything. And we shall discuss all of this again some other day, because we have already decided we wish to have many of those together, yes?"

"Yes," he choked back, "yes, I would like that." Then he took in a ragged breath, and aimed for a haughty tone . . . one which was belied by him nuzzling her ear.

He actually brushed the tip of his tongue along the shell.

"But you must stop calling me muppet."

And he felt her breath catch just before her words came back slightly strained with what he knew was arousal . . . he could feel it through the bond. "And you must stop calling me Miss Granger. You pick something else for me, and I _might_ pick something else for you."

"Hmph," he grumbled, "impertinent witch."

She chuckled.

"Is _that_ what you're going to call me?"

"Perhaps," he let out on a grunt as he rubbed her hip, "but only in mixed company."

Hearing her soft giggle against his shoulder brought him another ache, though this one was deep in his loins. And oh how he wished that she was well enough for an escalation in their physical affections, it would most definitely accelerate their bonding. But alas . . . he let out a heavy sigh . . . those actions would not be taken for some days yet.

Her wounds had not healed to that point.

So though he wished to let his fingers slide to other places, to give her pleasure and truly take away some of her worries for a little while, instead he just let his palm settle in the middle of her stomach as he whispered in her ear.

"Eventually I will settle on something to call you that does not involve the word, '_Miss_.' In the meantime, do not think that term diminishes my growing affection _for_ you, or my attachment _to_ you. Miss Granger is simply the habit," he patted her flat belly, then suddenly, and unexpectedly, imagined his child being in there . . . his voice faded, "nothing more."

Feeling her heart swell at his words, Hermione had to blink back the tears that began to form.

Even though she knew this was not a man practiced in affairs of the heart, it was like he knew exactly what she needed to hear, and exactly when she needed to hear it. Oh . . . she suddenly realized . . . It must be the bond! Because she had just remembered that odd tickle she'd had in her brain right before she'd told him not to be sad, when up to that moment, he had neither said nor done anything to indicate that was his emotional state. But yet she'd suddenly known exactly what he was feeling and just how to comfort him. So apparently . . . she bit her lip . . . the stronger their connection became, the more they would be able to read one another on that level.

That was astounding.

And oh how she wished she could hold her wand, because she so desperately wanted to see her Patronus. Because if their bond had already progressed to _this_ point, her Patronus must have already changed just as Snape's had. Could it really be a serpent now as he had jokingly requested?

And would her fellow Gryffindors ever forgive her if it really was?

Well bollocks to that, she immediately dismissed the thought with a faint furrow of her brow, this wasn't some ridiculous house spirit thing. This was her life. And if her bonded mate being a Slytherin, somehow resulted in her Patronus being serpentine too, well, that was that. On some level it would actually please her if that's what happened. Because it would mean that their bond truly was so strong, it could change things on that level too.

Something else so elemental to her being.

For now though, she just pressed another kiss to his scar . . . the reminder that he had lived to be with her on this day . . . and cuddled up in his lap again. She felt so safe and content wrapped up in his arms. Part of it she knew was the bond, but, more and more now, she was sure it was just being with him. Because though the bond may have helped to expedite their romantic attachment, it most assuredly could not have created it.

Thank Merlin for free will.

So they just sat there together as the fire crackled and Beethoven played softly on the wireless. If Snape had suggested they sleep there in the chair, she would have readily agreed, but she knew he wasn't inclined to have her sleep in his lap.

He'd say she couldn't get a proper rest.

So as expected, eventually she felt him rub her stomach again . . . she did love when he did that, it was so intimate . . . right before he whispered.

"I need to apply the Dittany tonight. Do you wish for me to wait until you are under the sleeping potion, or do you want to be awake?"

Hermione blinked as a slight tension filled her . . . the scars.

"Um," she swallowed and looked down at the silken fingers covering over Snape's wrist, "I think awake, but I don't want to look. I'm not ready to yet."

Then her voice brightened again as another thought came to her.

"Oh, but if we've reached the Dittany stage, do you think maybe I'll be able to hold my wand tomorrow?"

Snape tipped his head.

"Cautiously," he answered with a soft exhale, "I would say yes. With your aesthetic concerns, you may want to keep wearing the gloves for another few days, and I will keep the mirror covered, but if your hands are healing as well as your face, then their structural issues should be fully addressed within the next twenty-four hours. And provided that they are, after that, I see no reason that we could not attempt some simple dexterity exercises with your fingers. The wand would be a good tool. And now," he began to shift in the chair, "I believe we should move along with your regimen so we can go to bed. There is much to be done tomorrow, and it would best if we were both well rested."

And with that, Snape slowly came up to his feet with Miss Granger tucked protectively against his chest. As he broke the magical connection, he tipped his head down to whisper in her ear.

"I very much enjoy holding you even without the spark," he let out a soft sigh, "it makes me feel, well," he huffed slightly, "it makes me _feel_, and that is something I get uniquely from being with you."

Before she could respond beyond a nuzzling of his throat, he had carried her back across the room and over to the bed. Once she was settled on her back, he brushed his fingers through the short strands of her hair.

"To apply the Dittany, I will need to open the nightshirt," he reminded her gently, "and I will need to touch your breasts. There is no other way." She gave him a soft smile.

"I know, it's fine, and to be clear," her lip quirked up, "you now have my general permission to touch me anywhere you want. Emphasis on the anywhere."

His lips twitched.

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind. And I will offer reciprocal approval for when you are feeling well enough for such activities. Now then," he blinked to refocus, trying to push images of 'such activities' out of his head, "let us do the last of your potions first, then you will be ready to sleep once we are done with the Dittany massage."

Ordinarily Dittany would be applied with droplets, but given the nature of her injuries . . . all over . . . it was not practical to simply 'dump' the essence in one area and expect her to have full coverage everywhere she needed it.

He would need to apply it manually.

So once Miss Granger had taken her nightly pain and sleeping potions, he gave her a soft smile while brushing his fingers through her hair.

"You should close your eyes now. I will tell you when it is safe to look again."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded.

"Right, okay."

Still, she waited for just another moment until Snape had returned to his coffee table slash apothecary. But once he had the bottle of Dittany in hand, she let her half length lashes fall shut.

She waited.

When he returned to her side a moment later, the first thing he did was whisper that he was going to start with her face, if that was acceptable. All she could manage was a tight nod of approval, because now that it was time to apply this much needed herb, all she could think was, '_bloody hell, this was going to hurt.'_

To her surprise though, rather than feeling the liquid splashing onto her skin directly, she felt Snape's warm fingertips gently stroking her jaw . . . it began to tingle. But not in an unpleasant way.

Oh . . . she realized . . . he was applying the Dittany manually!

"Do not be tense, Miss Granger," he murmured while slowly sliding his fingers along her throat, "I added a numbing agent to the essence so the discomfort should be minimal. A faint tingling perhaps, but it should not be much more."

"No," she sucked in a shallow breath as his palms moved up to lightly run along her forehead and nose, "no, it's okay actually. You're right, only a faint tingling. Thank you for making that adjustment."

Really, she had been somewhat dreading the Dittany application just for fear of the potential degree of pain resulting from a stinging liquid being applied to fairly raw flesh.

It could have been excruciating even under potion.

But of course, she had now been reminded of yet another benefit of having a potions _master_ as a mate . . . her eyes crinkled faintly as he gently caressed her cheek . . . he could made everything better.

And it took him barely a minute to finish the application to her face and neck, he even did a swipe along both of her ears though she knew only one of them had actually been burnt. But once he was done with a murmur of, "and now we'll move to the chest," she felt her breath catch. Strangely, there was a degree of sexual anticipation. Or maybe it wasn't so strange.

After all, he was about to touch her breasts for the first time.

Either way, in the next moment, the buttons of her nightshirt began slowly popping open, one at a time. And then the fabric was being pulled apart, sliding from her shoulders, and down her arms. The cool air of the drafty house caused both a prickle of goose flesh to pop up everywhere, and a hardening of her nipples.

Her sense of anticipation for his touch was growing.

But then, hearing Snape's unexpectedly horrified hiss of, "what in the BLOODY HELL is this?!" she felt a stab of genuine terror instead!

"What?! What's wrong with me?!" She cried out in a panic as her palms pressed anxiously into her thighs.

"No, no it is all right Miss Granger," Snape was quick in hastening to reassure her with a squeeze of her shoulder, "I am sorry for frightening you, it is just this horrible word carved into your arm. You had not told me about it. Wait, is this . . ."

And his voice faded for a second before it came back almost shaking with rage.

"Bellatrix! This is her work, isn't it?! That demented, in-bred, MONSTER! I should have killed her a LIFETIME ago!"

The words had no sooner left Snape's mouth, when he apparently realized from the way that she had flinched at his howling while she was in such a vulnerable state . . . essentially blind and naked . . . that he might be causing her some discomfort. So he quickly let out a soft, "oh Miss Granger, I do apologize for my reaction." And then she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, just before one palm settled on her bare stomach, and the other on her shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to her ear.

"I did not mean to frighten you," he continued on with a whisper, "but I am so saddened by what she did to you, my beautiful muggle witch. I had not even heard a rumor about this desecration of your flesh. Even not knowing yet of the bond, I truly would have killed her for it."

"It's all right," she whispered back with a crackle of emotion in her voice, "it's not your fault she was a genocidal psychopath."

"No," he let out a heavy sigh, "but it is my fault that she lived as long as she did. That she lived long enough to do this to you. There are lessons I learned too late, and one of them was recognizing true evil when it is walking amongst us, and when is the exact moment to strike it down. If I were to ever come across her kind again, I would not make the same mistakes. Now then," he straightened and cleared his throat, "as to the damage from the accident, I would say the healing of the burns on your breasts and surrounding tissue, is truly remarkable. Though given how you were wearing layered garments, the heavy robe especially, the damage here was admittedly not as initially severe as in other areas, so I imagine that is why it has come along so well. However, there is already some scattered puckering of the flesh on your breasts and shoulders, so I do recommend still using the Dittany if you would like to prevent that scarring from becoming permanent. It is your choice though," she felt his fingers gently press into her bare shoulder, "to me, with or without the scars, you are still lovely either way."

Even under the circumstances, she felt her eyes fill . . . her sweet wizard.

"Um," she swallowed, "thank you but I think I'd still like the Dittany applied. Not for vanity, really, I've come to live with my other scars I got in the war, I just don't think I have the self-esteem to see that part of my body disfigured, and not be affected."

For a moment all she could hear was the crackle of the fire, and the faint notes of classical music in the air, but then without a word, she felt Snape's warm hands cupping her breasts.

She actually let out a gasp at the touch.

"Your body is exquisite," he spoke in a whisper while lightly caressing her flesh, "the scarring here does not change that fact. However," he continued on while slowly letting his hands slide away, "I believe I understand why you feel the way you do. I have had some scarring in more sensitive areas as well, and it took me time to adjust to it. So we shall of course do what makes you feel the most comfortable. So to that end . . ."

And his hands pulled away completely for just a moment before they came back to cover over her breasts again. Though that time the pleasure of his touch was mixed with a twinge of the icy tingle.

A fresh dose of Dittany and the numbing agent.

"So you do not catch a chill," came the murmur as he began to massage the essence into all of the notable scarring, "I will endeavor to finish quickly."

His touch was gentle but at the same time firm as his hands moved over her body in ways that Ron's never had. Though Ron had of course enjoyed touching her breasts, his experience in that area was hardly much greater than hers. If not for his time with Lavender he wouldn't have had ANY more experience than she did! It wasn't his fault that he hadn't learned much from his first girlfriend, but still, basically sex with him had just involved random squeezing and pinching of her breasts and nipples.

These were not acts which had elicited much pleasure for her.

With Snape though, and the feathery strokes of his fingertips as he lightly caressed her skin from shoulders to breasts to belly, even though his touch was primarily intended to heal and not stimulate . . . though she knew he was deliberately trying to give her pleasure as well . . . Hermione could feel herself getting aroused. And she wished she was well enough for them to actually have intercourse, but she knew that was out of the question. So unfortunately . . . she took a ragged breath as she felt him pull away with a whispered, "that should do it" . . . this was all the stimulation she was getting for today.

More the pity.

And then she felt her sleeves coming up and her shirt coming together . . . the buttons slipped back into place.

"Now for your hands," he murmured. And she immediately tensed up as his words had the effect of a metaphorical splash of cold water on her libido because her fingers had been burned down to the bone, and she remembered the horror of that moment when she realized she could see those knobs of white on her knuckles. So no matter what they did, potions, magic, or Dittany, her fingers might remain permanently damaged.

She knew this.

And as the weight of the silk disappeared with his muttered spell, she tensed even further.

"How do they look?" Her voice was tight, but then she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder again.

It was a genuine comfort that he could now freely touch her there.

"Much better than they were," he answered with a sigh of relief, "the fingers are no longer translucent, and though the structural repair is not yet complete, the flesh and muscle are filling in nicely. And I do firmly believe the acceleration has been from the magic sharing, because I know what my potions can do, and potions alone could not have done this much so fast. But still, you will not wish to see them for at least another two days. And actually," he squeezed her shoulder, "I think it would be best to wait until morning to apply the Dittany here. It will do more good then, and also this is not skin ready yet to be massaged, so we must be careful with the application."

"Right," she bit her lip, "good point. Okay, so you'll just put the gloves back?"

"Yes, though," and she heard him moving something about, "with one addition."

"What's the . . ."

But before she had a chance to finish the question, the gloves had covered over her hands again. This time though . . . her eyes slowly opened . . . they felt different.

"You lined them with fur," she whispered as her gaze locked onto his, "is it real?"

"Fake," he replied with a dry eyebrow towards the sleeping cat across the room, "it did not seem appropriate to use real."

Her expression softened in relief.

"Thank you, I don't like real fur for exactly that reason. The gloves though, they are," and she lightly wriggled her fingers, "very comfortable, and much warmer now."

"Yes," he nodded while turning away to tuck the Dittany into its place on the potion lineup, "I figured you could use the extra layering with the cooler air settling in tonight. And also," he turned back with a faint smile, "that texture of material is safe at this stage in your recovery. So with that," he leaned down to kiss the top of her head, "I will bid you a good night."

As he straightened up and began to turn away, she let out a hesitant whisper of, "you know you don't have to sleep on the cot tonight. You could sleep here."

And when he turned back to look down at her in surprise, she tipped her head.

"Well, I was just thinking. You believe the magic sharing is helping to accelerate the healing, and I agree, but I'm also starting to believe that maybe it's the actual bond too. If it is, then perhaps our having extended physical contact would help to move my healing along even faster." Then she shrugged, "but even if I'm wrong and it doesn't have any effect, I still feel better when you're holding me, so," she bit her lip, "I don't see a downside."

Snape's jaw twitched as he looked between Miss Granger's pouty lip, and the bed she was lying upon.

"Well," he responded slowly, "I suppose it would be all right. Because my main concern would have been the potential for chafing of your raw flesh, but," his gaze narrowed slightly as he looked her over, "I think we have fully passed that stage at least. Your hands are still quite delicate, but they are no longer raw, and either way are now covered. Though," and then he looked at her worriedly, "you are sure you do not feel any excess of pain when I am holding you?"

Her mouth quivered slightly at that.

"No," she gave him a soft smile, "the one thing I do not feel when you are holding me, is an excess of pain. It is exactly the opposite. It's the one time when the pain mostly fades."

His expression softened.

"All right then, we shall try it. But if you do feel any discomfort, you must promise to say something, agreed?"

She quickly nodded.

"Agreed."

So with that settled, Snape pulled out his wand and made a quick adjustment to the size of the already transfigured bed. Rather than the standard single he had created simply for her, he expanded the width by an additional meter to give them enough space to lie together comfortably. Then he turned around, and after accio'ing his blanket and pillow to his new sleeping area, he set the cot back into its original state of Fireside Reading Chair.

A swirl of his wrist then sent the chair levitating back across the room and over to the other side of the hearth.

As it floated past him, Crookshanks reached out a paw, trying to catch a loose thread dangling from the fabric. And hearing Miss Granger's soft giggle, Snape found his own lip quivering.

Those giggles were a gift.

"Do you ever enchant toys for him?" He asked half over his shoulder while settling the chair down on the carpet. And he saw her smile turn melancholy as she shook her head.

"Not for a long time."

Her words were heavy with regret. And for a moment he just looked at her, before finally letting out a slow breath.

"Pick your side of the bed, Miss Granger," he stated softly, before adding with a wry quirk of his brow, "and do choose well, because you might be stuck with it for some time."

Her eyes widened slightly as a surprised, "oh, right," passed her lips.

If their plan to remain permanently bonded came to pass, she would be choosing a side of the bed for the rest of their time together. That could be another hundred years. So that was a bit of a big, long term, decision to make on the spot. And she found her brow furrowing as she looked back up to him.

"If I pick one side tonight and everything works out as we hope it will, could we maybe switch sides later?"

Noting how worried she looked over such an inconsequential thing . . . he would of course let her sleep wherever she wished at any point in their time together . . . Snape found his mouth quivering.

He quickly got that under control.

"I suppose," he responded flatly, "if you insist, that approach would be acceptable."

"Okay then," she nodded seriously, "I'm going to choose the left . . . until I'm eighty. Then I want to try the right side, just to see."

And he could not help himself . . . a bark of laughter slipped out. At first she looked offended, but then she smiled. As his fingers began slowly working the buttons on his frock coat, he shook his head.

His eyes were still sparked with amusement.

"You are a ridiculous witch."

Her lip quirked up.

"I know, but it just suddenly seemed like a very big decision and that seemed like the best approach."

Feeling a tickle of exasperation mixing in with his amusement, Snape rolled his eyes as he began to slip his coat from his shoulders.

"Miss Granger, it is most assuredly NOT a big decision as I would never _hold_ you to any choice that you make on a matter of so little consequence. If our relationship continues in perpetuity, as is becoming my most fervent desire, and you decide to change your sleeping spot tomorrow, or next Tuesday, or eight years from next THURSDAY, then that is what we shall do! Because it does not matter as long as we are able to stay to, together."

His words stuttered at the end, because he suddenly realized that they were in the midst of what could objectively only be described as a "domestic quarrel." He felt a sudden burst of warmth in his chest. Because this was something he could have all the time now. A life made up not of the loneliness and despair that he had always had, but one with a mate, where they could have simple, utterly ridiculous arguments of no consequence over who will sleep where and what type of muggle biscuits to have with their tea.

What a brilliant life that would be.

And when he looked back over to Miss Granger, he saw her watching him closely. Then she bit down on her lip.

"Would you come to bed now, please?" Hermione whispered, "I'm getting a chill."

In fact she was not cold at all, but when he'd said that he wanted to stay with her forever, she'd suddenly felt such an ache of longing for him, that all she wanted was to curl up in his arms again. So she watched as he nodded slowly.

"Just one moment."

Then he pulled out his wand and tightened the wards on the house. After that he removed his boots and socks and loosened his collar. Seeing him briefly touch his throat, her eyes tracked along the scar that was usually hidden beneath the thick white cotton.

That cursed snake.

And she was not referring to Nagini. That creature had no choice in what it was, the other one did. And she had to wonder now, if she had known all along that this wizard had always been destined to be _her_ wizard, would she have made different choices in the war.

She did not know.

The only thing she was sure of, was how grateful she was to have this man in the way she did now. For so many reasons, he suddenly seemed to be quite the perfect match for her. Flaws and all.

On both sides.

So after he'd set a "_Nox_" on the lights, and a charm on the fireplace, (something to do with the wood pile) he climbed up onto the bed, and it was on the right side, just as she'd requested. She couldn't help but notice the little wink he gave her as he shifted down the mattress.

It caused a faint flush on her cheeks.

And given how he had been touching her so intimately earlier, fortunately neither of them had any hesitance in physically lying together now. All he did was adjust the set of his pillow by hers, and she shifted over to cuddle against his chest.

Her movements were a bit freer now that her injuries were healing. The pain was lessened too, so unlike before, the potion was getting most of it.

Thank Merlin.

So once her head was tucked in on his shoulder, she felt his arm slide around her waist and his palm spread out protectively over her stomach. A moment later the blankets came up and covered over both of them.

"I do love your wandless magic," she murmured sleepily, and he let out a slight huff in return, of, "that is very sad that you are impressed by a skill you also possess."

"Oh, just hush and take the compliment," she yawned back. Which was when she heard him huff again, just before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Good night, Miss Granger."

"Good night, muppet." She whispered in response, and hearing him grunt indignantly, she let out a sleepy giggle, "I told you, muppet stays until you pick something else for me."

"At this point I do not think you will be very _pleased_ with what I pick out for you," he cut back.

His snippy tone was completely undercut by the fact that he was actively cuddling her to his chest while he grumbled in her ear. And as the old muggle adage said . . . actions always speak louder than words.

And by actions alone . . . she felt him press another kiss to the top of her head as he gently rubbed her belly, her eyes crinkled . . . they were doing just fine.

* * *

_A/N 2: And there we go, plot movement and cuddling. The goal is to include some cuddling in every chapter for bonding purposes ;) _

_It is a balancing act writing Snape as affectionate and loving but not too soft either because I don't want to make MYSELF gag :) I feel like the muppet thing is a good button to press for Faux Grumpy Snape to pop up again. And for the background I'm putting for him, I always felt that his love for Lily was more 'pure,' than romantic. Not to say that it might not have been a crush at some point in adolescence, but I think her importance in his life was really that she was his ONLY person, ever. Most people have friends and family and support systems that shift over the years, but he didn't. He just had her, and he lost her twice and had to live with that guilt in contributing to her death. That's why I always saw his lasting affection for her ("always") as being driven by his gratitude over their early years together. Even for canon purposes, I don't think he was carrying a thirty year torch for her. Which means for OUR purposes here, his history is that he's had sex with women over the years, but no actual relationships for obvious reasons. But now he's giving it a shot :)_

_If you're still enjoying our twists and turns here I'd love to hear from you. And if you've already written me a note, I will try to get back to you this week. It's been very busy at work, but I have built up enough OT to now afford to 'completely isolate' for three or four days mid-week. Hoping to get some writing done too._

_Hope everyone stays healthy. Good luck!_


	8. Impossible Things

**Author's Note:** Hey all! So happy to be back here. And with so much so awful, let's go play pretend for awhile.

Picking up later that night. And figuring we could all desperately use some warm fuzzies, that's what you're getting here, but I think with enough Snape grumbling to keep anyone from getting nauseous :)

* * *

**Impossible Things**

Hermione woke up with a slow fluttering of her lashes. When her eyes finally opened onto the fire lit room, she blinked twice as her palm lightly pressed down on Snape's chest. It took a second, but then she realized why she was awake.

She needed to use the toilet.

Bollocks.

With all of their focus on the Dittany, the evening trip to the bathroom was the one thing that she and Snape had forgotten to cover while she had his magic to bolster her energy. And now she was lying there trying to figure out what time it was . . . still pitch dark outside, but not incredibly helpful as a timestamp when she could hear rain pounding on the roof . . . and how long it was going to take her to fall back to sleep with this pressure on her bladder. Because really she could not imagine waking up her newly discovered bondmate only to ask him to perform yet _another_ magic sharing session with her, simply so she'd have the physical strength to work the wandless cleansing spell. It would be a ridiculous request for the dead of night.

So again . . . she bit her lip . . . bollocks.

And she was just about to try crossing her legs until she passed out again, when she felt the warm body next to her begin to stir. She tried to remain completely still, hoping that Snape would fall back to sleep, but then she came the deep, sleepy rumble of, "tell me what is wrong," as his hand slid across her hip.

Clearly he knew she was already awake. Merlin, he didn't even pose that one as a QUESTION!

So she let out a weary huff.

"I have to use the bathroom, but I was going to try to just hold it until dawn. I didn't mean to wake you."

Really, she hadn't done much more than open her eyes and move one hand across his chest, so it was a surprise that she'd disrupted his sleep. But then she felt him begin to shift around as he answered on a yawn, "you did not wake me. I believe it was the bond. In the midst of a dream, suddenly I felt a sharp tug on my consciousness, as real as though someone were tugging on my robes," he looked down at her with a blink, "and then I was awake."

Hermione blinked back.

"So what, you think the _bond _knew that I needed you, so it just woke you up even though I had consciously decided against it?"

"Well," he brought his hand up to smother another yawn, "I am now awake, and you do indeed _need_ me, so," he shrugged half a shoulder, "yes, apparently that is exactly how it works. Now," he slid the hand on her hip, slowly up her back until it was resting on her neck, "four minutes should allot enough of my magic to cover the wandless spell, yes?"

"Um," Hermione nodded and blinked again as he began gently rubbing her neck, "yes, yes, I think so. But I still can't get passed how strange it is that the bond can wake you up _for_ me. That's," she bit her lip, "I mean I've heard stories of course about the amazing things soul bonds can do, but I just can't believe ours is already so strong."

That's when she saw Snape's sleepy expression soften further as he looked down at her.

"I can believe it," he whispered, and feeling a surge of feeling from him which she knew had nothing to do with the bond, or the magic sharing, her eyes began to sting.

"You are a burnt marshmallow," she answered back with a watery smile, "black and crunchy on the outside, soft and mushy on the inside." And seeing the scowl he shot her while muttering, "I am no disfigured confectionery," she let out a soft chuckle just before she tucked her head back against his chest.

As she felt his other arm slide up to wrap around her hips, under the blanket, she closed her eyes. A moment later he kissed her ear. She took a breath.

"I guess it does make sense that the bond is already so strong," she murmured against his throat, speaking as though there had been no pause in their discussion, "because obviously it existed before we ever knew it was there, so I suppose it's just been waiting for us to tap into it, and now that we have, our growing affections have simply amplified its power. And as a side point to that," she added the next point with a contented sigh, "magic sharing cuddled up like this, is almost as nice as when I sit in your lap, and if I didn't have to wee _so_ badly it would be a marvelous way to go back to sleep."

"We can do it in this position any night that you wish," Snape answered with a nuzzle to her ear. And feeling another burst of affection rise up in her then, Hermione responded with a kiss to his scar. The act was impulsive, but she could feel how it made his breath catch.

That in turn did the same to hers.

And if not for, again, that annoyingly overpowering need to wee, she would have happily escalated their physical relations. Perhaps with a proper kiss at least, but she wasn't really in the state for anything more 'romantic' at the moment. Her bladder was just too much of a distraction.

Beyond that though, another unexpected thought had just occurred to Hermione and she shifted back slightly to look up at the man holding her.

"If we were to both fall asleep," she asked with a wrinkle in her brow, "and our connection was inadvertently maintained for the remainder of the night, do you think that your magical stores could actually become depleted?"

Snape's jaw twisted for a moment as he thought about the question but then he bit his lip.

"In theory, perhaps," he answered thoughtfully, "but I do not think in practice it would be likely to happen. At least not with us. For one thing, I am approaching my prime years of wizarding power, so it would take a considerable event to deplete my magic in any meaningful way. Even last year with Nagini, though I was weakened physically for some weeks, the ability to use my magic was only marginally affected for the first forty-eight hours. More to the point though, I think with the two of us in particular, the bond would be a," he tipped his head slightly, "_safety net_, as it were."

"Oh," Hermione cut in with a bite of her lip, "right. I mean if it can wake you up simply because I need your help, then it would definitely wake you up if I was taking too much of your magic from you. That makes me feel better."

For a moment Snape was quiet, but then she felt his lips brush against her ear as he whispered, somewhat haltingly, "perhaps it would awaken me, but if something catastrophic were to happen and you needed to take all of my magic, I do believe I am close to the point where I would give it all to you."

There was such genuine emotion in his voice, and yes faint surprise too . . . a reminder that this was still so new for both of them . . . that Hermione felt her heart swell as her eyes again filled with tears.

Her silk covered hand came up to touch his cheek.

"You keep saying things like that," she choked back, "and you won't need the bond to have me for the next hundred and thirty years."

Of course that was the goal though, for the bond to become entirely incidental. For their feelings to continue to deepen . . . she bit her lip . . . until they had fallen in love. Truly, madly, deeply, as they say. She was definitely on her way.

Apparently Snape was too.

And when she heard him pull in a ragged breath as he gently kissed her neck, she felt a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. It was astounding that somehow the most HORRENDOUS mistake of her life had brought her back to this man. This brilliant, taciturn, sweet, cranky, adoringly affectionate, wizard, who had turned out to likely be the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

She still was not quite sure how to reconcile those two points.

One on hand it didn't seem right that she would be given such a gift. That in order to truly atone for what she had done to her parents, the universe should have made her suffer for so much longer. But on the other hand . . . it had been almost a year. By wizarding life spans that was just a blink in time of course, but every day of that year she'd been living in a true hell. There had been no denial or hiding from the truth of the crime she had committed. Not when she'd been in complete isolation, responsible for the daily care of the two people she'd loved the most, who could now no longer feed or wash themselves. Or even know when they needed to use the toilet. So many times they'd spilled food or soiled their clothing, and she'd had to help them clean up like they were infants. She'd been forced to see the damage she had done to them in the most intimate and painful ways. It had been a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And mostly . . . she let out a heavy sigh . . . she was still living in it.

The only time she felt this happiness as she did now, was when Snape was holding her. When he wasn't there, or when she was dreaming, or simply alone and lost in her own head, all she could think of was what had gone wrong, and all that still could if he didn't find a way to heal her parents.

This connection with him was all that was keeping her from sliding back off the edge.

So if she was getting a few minutes of happiness with him here or there each day, well, maybe it wasn't so much a _reward_, but more that without this time she would likely be teetering on the edge of madness by the end of all this.

She still might be.

But as she felt the comforting threads of his magic moving through her body, it was difficult to believe in such an ugly end, if only because she doubted that Snape would now ever allow it. And a few minutes later, once she felt like she had received enough magic from him to cover the wandless spell, she gave his chest a pat and murmured, "I think that'll cover it." So he took a breath and started shifting them around.

It was fairly easy getting up with them both in the same bed. He just wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. Then he swung his legs around, leaned over, and pulled her into his lap. After that he took a deep breath and slowly came up to his feet. From there it was just like normal.

Or at least what now passed as normal for them.

"I definitely want to try walking today," she murmured as they started out of the room. And he nodded back a, "yes, I think with my assistance that will be fine. We do not want your muscles to become weakened, so even if you still feel unsteady without my magical boost, stretching the muscles would be wise."

It was a relief to hear Snape agreeing with her, because as Hermione had recently discovered, when it came to her well being, he could be very protective. That was a wonderful thing, and she was so grateful that he cared, but if he'd pushed back on her walking simply because he didn't want to risk her falling, that wouldn't have come as a great surprise. But really, she just wanted to stop being such a burden to him. And the first step towards reclaiming her independence, was obviously getting her physical strength back.

The rest would come from there.

For now though, they repeated the bathroom steps which had so quickly become routine to them. But this was the first time that they had conducted them in the dead of a freezing night. In fact, Hermione was so cold after Snape had stepped out and vanished her clothing, that she started shaking. And once she'd finished her business and had called, (yelled really), that she was done, she had actually reached the point of teeth chattering too.

So when Snape whipped the door open, before he was able to do more than raise his wand up, she'd half stumbled, half dove, in her completely naked state, directly into his chest.

"I'm ss-sooo, c-c-cold!"

The words came out in a stammer, and Snape let one arm wrap around her shoulders as he snorted back an amused, "all right, Miss Granger, but I do need a moment please, for the spell. You are much too distracting in this state."

When she let out grunt, he pulled his arm away, raised his wand up, and murmured the incantation. The underpants and nightshirt immediately covered over her again. so he tucked his wand into his pants pocket, and wrapped her up in his arms.

"Is that better?" He murmured with a rub of his cheek on her short hair.

"Yes," she chattered out, "thank you. It's really awful being by all by yourself when you're cold and naked."

Snape grunted back a dry, "yes, I am aware," as he rolled his eyes and patted her back.

When she hadn't stopped shaking after another minute though, he scooped her up and started them quickly out of the bathroom and back down the hallway. He did take a moment on the way to wandlessly _Accio _over his shoulder, one of the 'indoor' robes from his front hall closet.

It fluttered along behind them as they headed back into the sitting room.

Once he had placed the still shaking Miss Granger down onto the bed, he turned, and with another incantation and wave of his wand, she was wearing the oversized woolen garment. It was about three sizes too big for her, and seeing her there, with her arms coming up to cross at her chest, completely enveloped in those yards of black fabric, he felt a fresh wave of deep affection rise up in him. Before he could even process that feeling, he saw her tipping her head down to give the robe a sniff, and when she looked back over at him, there was a faint, sleepy, smile on her face.

"Have I told you how much I love your smell?" She asked softly.

"My _smell_," he repeated back in confusion, and a fair degree of what could only be described as alarm, "what do I smell like?"

"Safe," her voice faded off, "you smell safe."

Feeling his expression soften as his chest warmed, he stooped down in front of the bed and placed his hands on her thighs.

His eyebrow quirked up.

"May I give you a proper kiss, Miss Granger?" he asked while tipping his head slightly to the side.

At Snape's question, for the third time in the last half hour, Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears as she nodded back.

"Yes you may, my muppet."

His eyes narrowed slightly at that, but when she snorted out a half giggle he leaned in closer as his fingertips pressed into her thighs. Her eyes fell shut.

At first his lips met hers with only the gentlest of brushes, but then he applied just a bit more pressure and she felt a literal spark jump between the two of them.

She squeaked.

"Oh," she breathed out as he broke away with a gasp, "was that static electricity?!" And she saw Snape's eyes roll as he licked the corner of his lip.

"We have been in constant physical contact for the last ten minutes, Miss Granger," he bit back tightly, "so please do tell me how that SPARK could have come from a _static_ buildup?!"

There was such a clear note of offense in his tone, that Hermione couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Oh my grumpy muppet," she giggled while reaching out to touch his cheek, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to imply that it couldn't have come from kissing you. I've just never had that happen when I kissed ANYONE before! Now come here," she patted his cheek as her open amusement morphed into a soft smile, "we need to do it properly."

Though it took a moment of him giving her a solid scowl for the giggling, (and probably for the "muppet" too), finally he let out a heavy breath and rolled his eyes once again. Then he let his hands slide up her thighs to settle on her hips . . . he pulled her to the edge of the bed.

"No giggling," was the last thing he muttered while leaning in again.

All she got out was a snort before his lips covered hers once more. That time there was no physical jolt, but it was still not like any kiss Hermione had had before. The feeling was just . . . she let out a soft sigh . . . exquisite. Better even than the magic sharing. It was like they'd sealed the connection that they'd been building.

Now all she felt was joy.

And when she felt him nibble, just a tiny bit, on the corner of her lower lip she let out a soft moan.

He broke away with a huff.

"More static?" He asked dryly. And once again . . . she burst out laughing, though it came out half on a pant.

"You are an idiot!"

Seeing his mouth quiver ever so slightly, she knew that he wasn't genuinely annoyed that time, so she just reached out to put her hand on top of his . . . and oh she wished she could actually hold it.

"It was amazing," she whispered with a soft smile, "and you bloody well know it. Now," she gave his hand a pat, "come back up here to bed. I'm sleepy. You can snog me senseless tomorrow."

"Just tomorrow?" Snape asked with a faint smirk as he slowly came up to his feet . . . her hand fell back into the folds of the robe he had draped over her.

Her eyes crinkled.

"Yes, just tomorrow. And maybe the next day, and the next day, and the next day, but most definitely not the day after that. I'll be busy."

That time he couldn't stop the snort of laughter that escaped. Nor could he stop himself from leaning down to give Miss Granger one more peck on her beautifully swollen lips.

"Ridiculous witch," he mumbled while pulling away.

She just grinned.

So he shifted her back and got her settled under the covers, then he continued around to the other side of their temporary, transfigured bed . . . he was already thinking about moving them upstairs the next night . . . and climbed in beside her. Almost immediately she had cuddled into his chest, and as he slid his arm around her waist, he had to take a breath simply to remind himself that this was now his life.

He had a witch to share his bed.

Not just any witch though, one that he was falling in love with at a speed which would have alarmed him under literally ANY other circumstances. His obvious fear would have been that he had been dosed with a love potion, or worse, that SHE had been dosed, and that all of this was just . . . his lips pursed . . . pretend.

But it was not.

He knew that from the way Miss Granger looked at him, and the way that she kissed his hideous scar and called him her muppet. It was still a horrifying, completely unacceptable, nickname, but the affection in her voice when she used it, it sparked an undeniable ember in his chest. It was love.

And it was growing.

It was his last thought as he pressed a final kiss to the top of Miss Granger's head and let himself drift off to slumber.

/*/*/*/

Snape awoke to the sound of a muggle garbage truck beeping out front.

Monday morning.

He knew this because that filthy truck had been lumbering through this part of Spinner's End on Monday morning for the last three decades. A person could literally set a watch by it. Of course he did not have a watch, useless things, so instead he simply cast a _Tempus _instead. All it did was confirm what he already suspected.

It was six thirty seven in the am.

Luckily though, when his gaze shifted down to the warm body curled into his side, he saw that Miss Granger was still sound asleep. That was logical. If not for the biological imperatives which had woken her in the middle of the night, the potions she had taken would have kept her sleeping through until at least eight am. So knowing that he likely had a little more time before she would awaken again on her own, he very reluctantly wriggled out of her grasp and shifted over until he could swing his legs over the side of the bed.

After he had come to his feet with a yawn, he turned back to fix the blankets up around Miss Granger's shoulders. Then, to his absolute horror, he found himself blowing a kiss to her sleeping form.

His hand dropped as he let loose a fierce scowl.

Bloody hell! The woman was going to have complete custody of his testicles within the WEEK!

But alas, as he headed out of the sitting room with a faint, resigned, growl, he knew that even with his testicles transferring ownership, he would not change these developments in their relationship for anything. This woman, this glorious witch, having her affections was a gift beyond any measure.

He would be voluntarily damned to Azkaban before he would fuck it up.

And knowing that he needed to make the best use of his time before she awoke, he hurried up the stairs to urinate, then brush his teeth, shave and take a proper shower. After he had toweled off, and charmed his hair dry, he set a series of cleaning spells on the bathroom before he crossed, naked, over to his bedroom across the upstairs hall to pull out his clothing for the day.

Navy trousers and a matching frock coat with a white dress shirt.

Though he was aware that he was not handsome, looking at himself in the full length mirror inside the closet, Snape knew that he did at least look _sharp_. That was the best he could do. And reminding himself then of his plans for his and Miss Granger's sleeping arrangements that night, he gave a good look around his bedroom.

It was . . . his lips pursed . . . embarrassing.

Truly, the wallpaper was torn and dirty, the linens on the bed, though clean, were ancient and faded, and the less observation made about the scratched up muggle furniture, the better. This was not a room he could ever let her see.

It would shame him.

In his defense though, during wartime he could not have given less of a care about this miserable house that he had only dwelled in during summer breaks. And since the Dark Lord's demise, and his own near death, he had been stuck, suffering a true, near all consuming, depression. Again, not a mental state which gave much thought for the state of one's furnishings.

Now though . . . he walked over to pick up his wand from the bed . . . it was time to begin living again.

So after taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and banished everything from the room. When he opened his eyes again he set a charm to magically enlarge the small space by five feet in either direction. Of course it would still look the same to the muggles in the street, but the internal change would be permanent as long as the charm remained set. And once everything had been stretched to a satisfactory length, he raised his wand and pointed it at the walls.

The torn wallpaper put up by his mother so many decades ago disappeared and was immediately replaced by a coat of emerald green paint.

As long he was redecorating for the first time in his life, he might as well go Slytherin.

To that end, the scratched wooden floors under his feet were turned a complimentary, through much darker, shade of green. Next he brought the furniture back into the room one piece at a time. Each was transfigured into something new. All in a pale oak to offset the dark paint. His old reading chair was recovered with a green and silver brocade fabric. Then he made a twin of the chair, but with the colors of the brocade in crimson and gold.

They were set on either side of the newly polished bricks of the hearth.

He also added an additional bookcase to the room, beyond the two he already had. The third one though, he left all of those shelves empty.

For Miss Granger's use of course.

The last item he worked on was the bed.

The one he had been sleeping in all these years had always been a single . . . literally the bed of his youth . . . but that could be no more. In fact, given how depressing his life/love life had been to date, he could not imagine Miss Granger lying on that bed at all, no matter what he did to it. So with a puff of smoke, he vanished it completely, and instead took an old footstool from the hall closet and levitated it over to where he wanted to place the new bed. Then he closed his eyes again and let himself picture his Miss Granger. Her soft curves and beautiful face, current scars and all, and how he desired only the best for her. When he opened his eyes again, he cracked his wand at the stool. It instantly transfigured into a beautiful pine bed fit for a muggle queen.

It was . . . in a word . . . enormous.

It had a matching headboard and footboard, both carved with ornate lattice work, two thick mattresses piled on the frame, silken sheets, wool blankets lined in cashmere, a mass of ridiculously fluffy and pointless, pillows, and a heavy down-filled quilt, made of silk, covering over the whole thing. And as an additional nod to his Miss Granger's happiness, the colors of the bed furnishings were done in both green and crimson with accents of gold thread running through everything to tie it all together.

He wanted her to know that this bed was made for her too.

Really, it did look quite inviting if he did say so himself. And outside of the bed coverings, the new décor was still quite simple, literally just a few coats of paint with plain wooden furniture, but the shades of green were much warmer than the dingy old wallpaper and scratched floors. And if Miss Granger wished to put up any paintings or photographs . . . not something he was opposed to in principle . . . she would have a blank canvas with the walls. All in all, he was quite pleased with the results. And with all of that addressed, he headed back over to the bathroom to see how that had turned out in his absence.

Again . . . he nodded approvingly as he stood in the doorway a moment later . . . very well.

The claw tub had had a scouring charm set on it, so it was now literally sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the small window. The rest of the bathroom was spotless as well, so all he had to do was set an incantation to repair the dozen or so cracked tiles he could now clearly see all over the room, though he had never actually noticed them before.

It was interesting, and a little depressing, seeing his world now through someone else's eyes. Of course he knew that Miss Granger would not _care_ about cracked tiles, she was not a shallow person, but he knew that she was an observant one. Which meant that she would _notice_ those imperfections.

And that was why they needed to be fixed.

Then in deference to his bond mate's known desire for a bath that day . . . which was the reason he was focusing so much effort on the bathroom right now at all . . . he vanished the old curtains which hung from the window frame, and had also always surrounded that tub.

Both sets were the original, sun faded, pink and yellow daisy prints, (in a sixties style), chosen by his mother before he was even born. And remembering a conversation he had once overheard at Grimmauld Place where Miss Granger had spoken of her love of roses, that was the flower he chose for the new hangings.

Blood red curtains adorned with cascades of yellow roses covering over them.

It was such a small change adding that spark of color, but it truly did transform the small tiled room. As a final act, he set a water repellent charm on the fabric around the bathtub, so they wouldn't need to add those sad plastic liners as the muggles did.

Everything now looked quite . . . he let out a slow breath . . . acceptable.

Enough time had passed too, at least an hour since he had awoken, that he knew he needed to get breakfast started before Miss Granger awoke. Fortunately, magic did make this type of chore go much more quickly, so he was already waving his wand to get the kettle boiling and the eggs out of the refrigerator, before he'd even finished walking down the stairs.

By the time he'd reached the kitchen, the tea bags were placing themselves in the mugs and the cast iron was placing itself onto the burner. All he had to do was add in the slices of ham, and oversee the cracking of the eggs . . . even with magic, shells were always a risk if a wizard was not careful . . . before he added a few shakes of salt and pepper to the pan, and set the heat down low.

By his estimation, everything would be done in about seven minutes.

Which was perfect timing actually, because he had just heard Miss Granger calling his name. Feeling his breath quicken . . . again, losing custody of his testicles . . . he turned and stepped over to the kitchen doorway.

"I was just about to awaken you," he answered back with a faint quirk of his lip. And as he began to walk into the sitting room, his eyes widened.

"Oh," he let out a pleased sigh, "your skin looks remarkable today, Miss Granger."

"Really?" She responded hopefully as she tried to push herself up, "no more scars?"

He shook his head as he walked up to the bed.

"Definitely no visible scars on your face," he answered while scrunching his brow. "In fact, outside of us still needing to address your missing eyelashes and eyebrows, your countenance is looking more normal than I ever would have dared to hope after only seventy-two hours of treatment."

For a moment she just blinked up at him, then her face lit up in a brilliant grin.

"Oh, I bet it was the SNOGGING!"

Once again, he could not help the snort of laughter that escaped. Not once before in his life had he ever had such difficulty in maintaining his composure. Seventy-two hours with this witch and she had almost completely destroyed it. Thank Merlin they had not found one another as bond mates while he was still functioning as a spy.

He would have been flayed within the first week.

"More likely it was the _Dittany,_" he responded dryly, though with a good natured eye roll, "but your theory is an interesting one for submission to _Potions Monthly_."

When she just let out a small chuckle, he huffed and leaned over to pull back her blankets. Realizing then that she was still wearing his robe over her nightshirt, he vanished the bulky covering before he reached over to lift her off the bed.

His plan was to carry her over to his reading chair to do a short magic sharing session, and then help her walk down the hallway to the bathroom. But as he moved to lift her up to his chest, she patted his shoulder.

"Actually," she asked softly, "could you please put me on the floor? I'd like to try standing up for a minute?"

"Of course, my witch," he murmured obligingly, "whatever you wish."

So he shifted his hold, and let her feet drop to the carpet.

For a moment he just looked down at her as she seemed to stare at her toes. Her hands were braced lightly against his chest.

Before he could ask if she was all right, suddenly she had lifted her head and smiled.

"It seems that you are you feeling much better today, yes?" He whispered as one of his hands moved off her hip, to settle on her lower back.

"I do feel better," she answered with a nod, "there's still definitely some pain, but it's nothing like it was."

Then, to his surprise, she suddenly leaned up on her tiptoes to slide her arms around his neck. She tugged him down into a hug.

A proper one.

And now with her warm body pressed entirely against his front, Snape could feel how her legs were shaking with the exertion of stretching those muscles. So he let that hand on her back spread out so that his palm was splayed flat. The hand he had placed on her other hip, moved up so that arm was wrapped fully around her shoulders.

He just wanted to make sure that she was safe and anchored, so both moves were meant more as protective, even than affectionate. Though actually, he realized then that his protective instincts were born _of_ his affection for her, so one really led into the other. And he was wondering if from the sigh he felt against his throat, Miss Granger recognized his movements in the same way as well.

"You waking up with me last night for half an hour, just so I could go to the bathroom," Hermione murmured after a moment of simply breathing in her muppet's clean, spicy, scent, "it was a reminder that all weekend you have been taking _such_ good care of me," her voice hitched, "and this was the only way I could think of to say thank you right now."

For a moment Snape was quiet and still, thinking about what she had said. But then finally he whispered back.

"I told you on the first day, witch, it would be no bother to take care of you."

"No," she breathed out against his throat, "you said it would be no bother to _heal_ me, but you taking _care _of me, that's different."

"There is no difference to me," he admittedly softly, "there never was."

Feeling her eyes begin to fill, she let out another sigh and buried her face into his throat.

"Severus Snape, you are my sweet, wonderful, wizard and I am so grateful that we have found each other again."

It was not only that she said those words, but how she said them . . . with the crackle in her voice . . . that made Snape's chest heave. But he was not accustomed to having to process his feelings openly after so many years of occlumency and suppression. So all he could think to do as thanks for Miss Granger's lovely expression of her affection, was to lean back so he could lift her fully off the carpet.

He gave her a fierce hug.

And hearing her sniffling against his shoulder, he was about to put her back down on the bed and snog her senseless just as she had said he could, when . . . of course . . . the kettle began to scream.

The sniffle morphed into a giggle.

"Guess that's the end of the moment!"

And he grunted out a surly, "yes," he slowly lowered her back down to the carpet, "it seems that it is. But here now," he slipped his arm around her waist and started slowly walking her across the sitting room, "let us go to the kitchen together. I think if you are healed enough to initiate an embrace, you are healed enough sit at the table for breakfast. We will do your potions out there as well."

Hearing her sniffle back an, "oh yes, I'd like that very much," as she leaned on his chest, and shuffled along slowly as his side, he shook his head at the realization that he was now entering a world of disgusting domesticity. Monday morning breakfast together in the nook.

His lip quirked up.

What a lucky bastard he was!

* * *

_A/N 2: I looked and saw that my last update was literally the day before our state's lockdown began, but not unsurprisingly, the advent of our mini-Apocalypse(s) kind of put a dent in the writing process. I'm sure I'm not the only one who had that issue because I think I've only seen maybe two story updates pop into my emails since March. Especially that first month, it was difficult to properly focus on anything that didn't revolve around how to avoid catching an extremely unpleasant respiratory virus and/or finding toilet paper. And now it's still that plus, obviously, so much more, but I had to let my brain escape that stress finally. And though I had planned for this chapter to end on a different note (to take them into the following evening when Hermione gets her wand back) it kind of got sidetracked with the kissing and his redecorating to make her happy, but I was pleased with how it all came together, so I decided to cut it here and post as the fuzziness than it is rather than diluting it with additional 'plot' :)_

_I am hoping to get back onto a semblance of regular postings again, (ideally once a week or so), so thank you to those of you who are patiently sticking around through the process. And I would love to hear from you too ;) Thanks all!_


	9. Rose Scented Bubbles & Misadventures

**Author's Note:** I'm going to stop pretending that I can stick to an update schedule, because this hellscape we're living in, is kind of an indefinite thing. It's just so hard now between work, and the sporadic waves of depression and anxiety, to know when my brain will be cooperative to write, so I'll just promise to the do the best I can, to keep chugging along as quickly as possible :)

So to this, picking up a little later the same morning.

* * *

**Rose Scented Bubbles and Misadventures in Bonding**

Hermione gave a sharp swirl of her wrist to wandlessly wring out the soapy flannel.

It spun around three times, with water and suds flying everywhere, before she let out a slow breath and extended her arm, watching then as the still faintly dripping cloth, floated across the room, and over into the small wooden laundry hamper in the corner.

It hit the bottom of the basket with an audible 'plop.'

With that bit of housekeeping now taken care of, she slunk down into the water and leaned back to rest her head on the edge of the gleaming white bathtub rim. Her eyes fell shut as she let out a soft sigh.

Clean.

For the first time in almost a week, she'd had a proper washing up. It felt SO good! And the best part . . . well, second best, outside of the bath itself . . . was that she'd managed to do it all by herself! It might have seemed another silly thing to get excited about (much like when she'd first gone to the toilet alone) but really, she was developing a notable degree of discomfort with Snape still having to do almost everything for her.

The comparison to the situation with her parents was much too unsettling.

So when her muppet had mentioned over breakfast that the upstairs bathroom was now prepared for whenever she wanted to go up for her bath, she'd been so excited. Of course he had phrased it as him 'giving' her a bath, but when she'd asked if they could figure out a way for her to bathe by herself, he had . . . after a long, eyebrow twitching stare . . . agreed to assist her with that request. Which was how, after breakfast and potions (including her new hair growth one), they had settled in by the fire for an extended magic sharing session.

To date, previously, the majority of their sessions had been perhaps twenty or thirty minutes, but this one had lasted for just under an hour. It had actually been so nice, not only to be cuddled in his lap for that long, but also because they had spent so much of that time kissing. Really though, outside of having been a wonderful way to pass the time, the snogging had also been for extremely practical reasons.

Her healing process.

Because she was absolutely convinced that their kissing the night before had been the key to vanishing her remaining facial scars so quickly. And though Snape hadn't necessarily _agreed_ with her magical theory . . . "absolute bollocks" was actually his scathing response . . . it had of course taken absolutely no effort at all to convince him that kissing would still be an excellent use of their extended magic sharing time. After all, the point of the exercise had been to make sure that by the time they were done, she would be literally _swimming_ in his magical essence.

And she most definitely had been.

In fact she'd never felt so magically strong, and she'd kind of wondered if that was how he felt all the time. If so, she was more than a little jealous. But really she was thinking that more likely, it was because it was their COMBINED power she had felt surging through her body.

There was nothing else like it.

Especially given how today wasn't like her first few days when she'd been so physically debilitated. Now that most of her wounds were healed, and she'd been eating properly and taking her potions, her physical strength was returning. So once more she could feel a trace of that warm tingle in her magical core . . . something which had been missing since the accident. And after Snape had seen how strong she was after today's sharing session, (literally she had wandlessly tossed a log onto the fire while they were still sitting cuddled up together) the only thing he had insisted upon, was that he needed to get her in and out of the bath. As he'd pointed out, it really would be too dangerous for her to maneuver that step alone, knowing how she still had no practical use of her hands.

And he was absolutely correct there.

So twenty plus minutes ago, he had carried her up the stairs, and while she had sat in his lap in a chair that he had conjured out of thin air, he had quickly filled the tub for her with both hot water, and rose scented bubble bath. He'd claimed the bubble bath was left over from his mother, and truthfully the muggle box did appear to be quite ancient, but still, it was funny that he'd had it. Once he'd checked the temperature of the water though, and then set a stasis charm so that it would stay at a perfect forty degrees Celsius, to her absolute delight, he had spun a small cyclone through the tub to froth the bubbles. After that, while ignoring her attempts to give him a thank you kiss . . . "do not distract me, witch," had been his grunt . . . he had set a seal on her already special gloves, to ensure that they would remain impervious to the effects of both the water, and the heat. Lastly he had rolled up his sleeves, then vanished her clothing, stood up, and slowly lowered her down into the frothy, rose scented, water.

The look of open concern on his face as he'd straightened up, and slowly backed away, had brought a warmth to her core that had nothing to do with the temperature of the bath.

"I'll be fine," she had whispered to him with a little smile, "I promise. And I also promise to yell for you immediately if I have even the slightest problem. Now you go do some Snape stuff for a little while. I'll be done in maybe twenty minutes, okay?"

After he'd stared at her for another moment, he'd finally tipped his head and murmured a reluctant, "as you wish," before he'd turned away.

He had been fixing his sleeves again as he'd walked out.

Once he was gone, she'd set about getting all of the basics handled while his magical boost was still at its strongest. First her hair, which had been shockingly simple to wash now that it was so short, then it was a VERY light brush of a soapy flannel over her face, limbs, chest and stomach before she'd moved on to her personal areas. And though there was no doubt that she desperately needed a shave, (in so many places), she didn't trust herself with a razor. Not until she was fully healed. With her luck, the wandless magic would sputter out at the wrong time and she'd end up cutting herself. And if she had to call Snape back in to find her in a bathtub of bloody water, there was no doubt he would absolutely have a heart attack.

So no . . . she rolled her eyes . . . having a shave was definitely was not worth any of that potential drama.

Now that the actual bathing was done though, and she had settled back into the nice hot water, she could feel the magical boost was draining off at a somewhat unsettling speed.

It was sort of felt like crashing after a sugar high.

And given how she'd literally collapsed to the floor the other night after a five minute sharing session, she had to wonder, now with a tension building in her muscles, just how bad the crash would be this time.

It was the last focused thought she had on the matter, before she felt something strange happen. It was like her consciousness was being sucked away. Her eyes began to roll, and then suddenly she was splashing and sputtering, trying to push herself back up out of the water she'd slipped down into.

She'd passed out.

"Merlin's beard," she slurred, still blinking water from her eyes and trying to focus as she looked over at the puddles all over the floor, "what the bloody hell was that?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than she heard Snape yelling, "MISS GRANGER! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!" as his footsteps began to pound up the stairs.

"I'M OKAY, MUPPET!" She hollered back, "I JUST GOT A LITTLE . . . "

And her voice trailed off as he suddenly appeared in the doorway.

". . . sleepy."

His wild eyes blinked as he took in the state of the room, "sleepy?!" He repeated back in horror and confusion, "you became _sleepy_, and decided to scream the words, quote, '_oh shite, I'm going to drown in the bath!?_'"

"What?!" Her eyes popped as her brain suddenly refocused, "I didn't . . . oh, wait, did I? Oh," she bit her lip, "I'm sorry, I really don't remember screaming anything. I must have, um. . . "

And her cheeks started to flush as she realized full honesty was the only way forward here.

"I passed out." She continued on, now speaking softly at the growing level of alarm on Snape's already extremely upset expression, "it was just for a second when the last of the shared magic suddenly drained off, but," her jaw twisted, "when I felt it happening, I did start to get anxious."

Then her eyes widened.

"Then I panicked," she spoke now in wonder, "I remember now. When I was slipping into the water, I screamed in my head. You must have heard me . . ."

". . . through the bond."

Snape finished her thought as he stepped fully through the doorway. Then he plopped down onto the small chair he had conjured barely a half hour ago. He dropped his head into his hands.

"Bloody hell," he muttered behind the curtain of his hair, "this bond is going to be exhausting." Hearing those words, and the tone of annoyance that came with them, Hermione felt her eyes begin to prickle with hot tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with a crackle in her voice, "I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even realize what I was doing when it was happening."

The tears in his Miss Granger's voice forced Snape's head to snap back up again.

His expression softened when he saw that she was crying.

"Do not cry, Miss Granger," he answered softly, "and please do not apologize either. The regret here is mine, for my reaction to something you clearly could not control. And actually," he let out a slow sigh, "it was not even the telepathy which caused me to get upset. It was the residual fear I was processing, from believing that you were in danger." His voice began to thicken, "I felt panicked in a way that I have not in a very long time. I was afraid that something had happened to you."

Hermione sniffled and gave him a tearful, worried, smile.

"So does this mean that you might be having some second thoughts about being bondmates? Because we didn't realize this kind of telepathy could happen, and I don't know how I'll stop it from happening again. I mean," she sniffled again and pouted, "I don't want to give you a heart attack twenty times a day."

Snape immediately stood up then, and walked over to the bathtub. Then he stooped down by her side, and pressed a gentle kiss to the lips of his beautiful witch.

"There are no second thoughts," he whispered while pulling away a moment later with a brush of his thumb along her chin, "I would not barter away these feelings I have for you, for anything. And if you are frightened, or in danger, obviously I DO want you to call for me through the bond, just as you did. And if you are in danger twenty times a day, then so be it." He huffed, "we both know it would not be the first time. And if such circumstances were to arise again, as both your mate and your protector, clearly my presence at your side should be expected." He tipped his head, "I would not wish for it to be any other way. So really the bond functioned exactly as it was supposed to. It alerted me to your distress. I was just taken by surprise at the intensity of the moment, but next time I will know what it is that is happening. And once we have addressed the situation with your parents, we will begin research on bond communication. Together we will figure it all out," his eyes crinkled faintly as he brushed a fresh tear off her already wet cheek, "it will be fine."

For a moment Hermione just blinked and sniffled as she looked over at this man who could just constantly amaze her.

"Everyone else's relationships are rubbish," she whispered after a moment, "ours is the best."

His jaw quivered slightly.

"I agree," he answered her with a smirk, "we are better than everyone. We always have been. Now then," his eyebrow quirked up as he gave her bubbles a quick glance, "are you ready to get out of the bath?"

When she gave him a tight nod, he pulled out his wand. Once he'd set a heating charm around the both of them, he began muttering the rest of the incantations needed to get her dry and clothed. As it was, it was barely a minute later when she was looking up at him from the dry bathtub, now dressed once more in one of his black, silk lined, nightshirts.

Her eyes crinkled.

"You forgot to give me underwear."

"No," he smirked again, "I didn't."

At his response, two bright, lovely, spots of color appeared on her cheeks as she bit down on her blossoming smile.

"Cheeky bastard."

The long, low, seductive chuckle he let out at that, set such a quiver in Hermione's lower regions that she wanted to yank him into the bathtub with her. Not that she was in any physical condition for sexual intercourse . . . nor was a cold, slippery, tub a very comfortable place to have a first time . . . but the things that man's voice could do to her, she almost would have been willing to pass out in the middle of it anyway.

Luckily Snape distracted her from those extremely impure thoughts, by his next, much more sober, question.

"Did you wish to try walking again?"

His voice was tight. Clearly he was trying to temper his concerns in this area, while also respecting her desire to more quickly reclaim some of her independence. But Hermione knew that she wasn't up for anymore exercise that day. And even a simple walk counted as exercise right now.

Between the bath and the after effects of the magic sharing, she was completely drained.

"Oh, um, no," she answered with a bite of her lip, "thank you for asking, but I don't think that walking would be very wise right now. With the magic sharing drain sapping my energy, and the warm water relaxing my muscles, my legs are feeling pretty loopy."

"_Loopy_?" Snape repeated the word back to her with a faint scoff of derision. "As I recall," he continued speaking while leaning over the tub to pick her up, "this is a muggle term." He pulled her up to his chest, "and not one which is in any way applicable to the use of your _legs_."

"Oh hush," she yawned back while turning her face into his neck . . . he smelled so lovely, "you know what it means from context." She continued on now with her voice slightly muffled by his collar, "now did you wish for me to _crawl _down the hallway to take a nap, or are you going to carry me?"

"You already know that I shall carry you anywhere," he answered with a grunt while shifting his hold on her slightly, "but we will come back to your use of nonsensical muggle verbiage, at a later date."

"Oh how grand that will be," she grumbled back sarcastically.

Though she was expecting some additional rejoinder from Snape . . . the idea of him letting her get in the last word, (no matter how stupid the topic of their conversation), did not seem likely . . . there was none. Instead she felt him press a kiss to her temple.

When she lifted her head slightly to look over at him, he simply quirked his lip.

"I enjoy your occasional bouts of bitterness," he explained with a tip of his head, "I find them . . . charming."

For a second Hermione just stared back at him, then she let out a faint, sleepy, snort of laughter.

"Only you would find bitterness _charming_," she huffed in amusement. His only response to her remark was to give her another kiss.

That one was on the lips.

It was gentle, and soft, and it made her oh so happy, even though she was oh so tired. It wasn't until Snape had broken away that Hermione realized while he was kissing her, he had walked them over into the bedroom.

It was a room she hadn't seen yet.

Even as she was contentedly licking his taste from the corner of her lip, her sleepy eyes widened in surprise at what she saw in front of them.

"Oh my," she breathed out, "this is . . . did you," her gaze darted over to his and then immediately back to the room, "did you make that bed for me?"

It was ENORMOUS! And GORGEOUS! All covered over in what seemed to be layers of silk, plus piles of pillows, and all of the colors of the bedding, and the really the whole of the room, were obviously designed to complement their respective houses.

It was amazing!

"I did make a few specific alterations with your comfort in mind," Snape answered Miss Granger softly, trying to hide the uncertainty from his tone, "is it, do you find it acceptable?"

Hermione's eyes filled at the waver in his tone . . . that he could do such a thing for her, and still be so unsure of himself.

She looked over at him with a sniffle and a nod.

"I love it. And the bed, and the colors you chose, they," her words crackled, "well, they make me feel like I belong here."

Feeling an ache in his chest at the pain he could hear in his Miss Granger's voice, Snape pressed his lips to her ear.

"You do belong here," he whispered, "because you belong with me. This is a space I created to make you . . . happy."

The hesitance in his use of the last word was not out of discomfiture at his actions, but simply at the unfamiliarity of having such that word roll off his tongue at all. Happiness, his own, and that of others, had been such a foreign concept to him. But now with his Miss Granger, the word had meaning.

And purpose.

And hearing her muffled, emotional, sniffle of, "oh my sweet muppet," as she buried her face in his neck, he knew that he had expressed himself correctly.

Thank Merlin.

So his eyes crinkled faintly as he gave her body a gentle squeeze.

"I will excuse the muppet this once," he answered softly, "simply because you are pleased. That is the only reason."

And with that, and hearing her watery giggle against his throat . . . it made a lovely vibration against his skin . . . he carried her over to the bed.

As they approached, the covers slid down of their own accord, and then he was leaning over to place his witch down ontoher side of the bed.

The left.

He straightened up then for just a moment to straighten a kink from his back.

When he saw then Miss Granger's lashes beginning to flutter, his expression softened . . . she was going to pass out soon. So he leaned over again to quickly get her settled before that happened. This time he let one hand settle firmly on her hip, as the other slid along her bare leg.

He was shifting her up the mattress.

"That feels nice," Hermione let out on a sigh at Snape's gentle touch, "though I'm sorry it's all so fuzzy down there. I haven't shaved in forever."

Snape's hand stilled on Miss Granger's thigh, even as his eyebrow ticked upwards in surprise.

"Such matters will never be of any concern to me," he answered with a stroke of his thumb along her silky skin, "my concerns will only ever be for your good health. The rest is all vanity."

And to punctuate this point, he let his hand slide up and under her night shirt. When her sleepy gaze darted up to catch his, he gave her inner thigh a firm squeeze.

She bit her lip.

"I'd hoped we could do a bit more once I wasn't so disgustingly unwashed," Hermione spoke with a soft, slightly embarrassed, smile, "but I'm afraid I'm too tired right now."

His expression immediately softened then as he let his hand slide back down to her knee.

"I was making no genuine advance," he answered while moving his other hand up to lightly brush his fingertip over the fuzz of her nearly reformed eyebrow, "I was simply stressing that as you are, you are a beauty."

Her eyes began to glisten . . . and his jaw twitched.

"You are _my_ beauty," he continued softly, "and I look forward to engaging in additional physical affections when you are well, but for now you must rest. Because it is clear that the magic sharing is consistently affecting you somewhat paradoxically, in that the more of my magic you receive, the greater the physiological crash you experience when that magic depletes. It is not a common side effect, so hopefully this is a temporary condition linked to your trauma. After all, we must remember that though you awoke _feeling_ better today, it is clear now that did not mean you actually _were_ better. In retrospect," he tipped his head to the side, "I believe now it was more likely an endorphin boost you felt this morning, comparative to how badly you felt _yesterday_ morning."

Hermione's lip quirked up.

"That's a good theory. You're so smart."

"Yes," he responded drily, "I have long been aware of my advanced intelligence, Miss Granger. Thank you though, for mustering up your last bit of physical strength, to state the obvious."

When she let out a soft, sleepy, chuckle of, "you're such a git," he rolled his eyes and leaned over, slanting his head slightly, to give her a kiss.

"And you are a dunderhead," he murmured against her lips, "I weep for the limited acuity of our theoretical, undecided upon, offspring."

Hearing her let another, soft, sleepy giggle, his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

"Go to sleep," he whispered with a light brush of his thumb along her lower lip, "we can exchange additional insults when you awaken."

"So romantic," she yawned as her lashes fluttered. That time he ignored her, knowing it was likely she would keep going as long as he did. Instead he simply continued with the soft caress of her lip until he saw her respirations evening out.

Asleep.

So he straightened up and turned to look at the room behind him, and the stack of potion books he had brought upstairs while she was in the bath. He took a breath.

_Time to get on with their research._

**/*/*/*/**

Hermione awoke with a start. At first she wasn't sure why she was awake, only that her heart was pounding as she blinked up at the wooden slats on the ceiling above her. But then suddenly there was a catastrophic boom of thunder . . . she jumped again.

That's when she realized what must have awoken her.

"Oh," she huffed out the annotation to her still sleep foggy brain, "it's raining."

"Of course it is raining," she heard Snape respond in a flat monotone, "this is England."

Her gaze immediately darted across her (their) new bedroom, to see him sitting in one of the wing chairs by the hearth. The fire was crackling in front of him. As their eyes made contact in the shadows, he snapped his book closed and with a wave of his free hand, the small wrought iron lamp by on her bedside table, came to light.

It threw a soft glow over her section of the room.

She smiled at him.

"Thanks," she whispered, watching as he slowly came to his feet . . . the book he'd been reading was dropped into the wing chair.

She could see there was a whole stack of books piled around his chair.

At a glance they looked to be ones he'd brought from the cottage. So at least she knew what he'd been up to while she was sleeping.

"I assume you are hungry?" Snape asked while starting across the room.

"Famished actually," she answered on a yawn, half smothered into her elbow, "is it time for lunch?"

His lips pursed.

"You have missed lunch. And tea. At this point an evening meal would be most appropriate."

She blinked in surprise.

"How long was I asleep?"

Snape stopped next to the bed then, and tipped his head to the side.

"I would say," his jaw twitched, "approximately eight point seven five hours."

She blinked again before letting out on a faint stutter.

"Tha, that's quite a long time."

The length really was too long to even qualify as a nap. And given how it wasn't potion induced, she had to figure she'd probably scared the blazes out of him passing out for so many hours in the middle of the day. A point confirmed when she saw Snape's jaw tighten slightly as he nodded.

"It was. I ran diagnostics on you at various intervals simply to ensure that you were not suffering some genuine relapse." He let out a slow breath, "you were fine."

Though to the untrained ear, his tone might have sounded somewhat flat, Hermione had enough practice in reading him to hear that tremor of concern lacing his words. So she gave him a pout and opened her arms.

Just as she'd expected, his lips immediately pressed together into a thin line, right before he stooped down by the bed, to pull her into a hug.

"You did give me a worry."

Again, the flatness in his tone was undercut, this time by the bodily squeeze that came with the word, 'worry.' So she turned her head to kiss his cheek.

"I'm sorry I scared you," she murmured against his skin.

As he disentangled himself from their embrace, she continued on then as he was helping her to sit up straight against the pillowed headboard.

"Maybe after we're together a little longer," she continued with a heavy breath, "we'll be able to communicate through the bond more easily."

Seeing Snape's brow knit together in confusion, she clarified her thought.

"I mean, we already know the bond is capable of sending out spontaneous messages from one of us to the other when we're sleeping, so maybe there's a way for us to send _conscious_ messages as well. Like, when you first became worried about me sleeping so long, you could have closed your eyes and focused on asking me if I was okay. And maybe it would have been possible for me to have answered you in my dream. Because I would have said, 'yes, muppet, I'm fine. We're just having a picnic in the Forbidden Forest.'"

Snape blinked.

"The Forbidden Forest is not a safe place for a picnic."

And she rolled her eyes.

"Well, it was perfectly safe in my dream."

Then her expression lightened as she remembered the rest of her slumbering activities.

"Oh, we also went to Diagon Alley and you bought me a steamer trunk's worth of books, and yourself a new case of potion ingredients. And then we put on fancy dress robes to have a posh dinner at a magical restaurant hidden in Covent Garden. That's where you made the waiter cry because he was rude to me when I asked a question about the fish preparation."

She gave him a wide grin.

"It was a grand day.

The absolute joy apparent in Miss Granger's recall of events which had never actually occurred, fomented a spark of genuine happiness in Snape's damaged soul. No matter the terrible thing she had done, it was clear that _her_ soul, was still pure.

And he would do his damndest to ensure it stayed that way.

So he played along with her thoughts, in a way he never would have with anyone before.

"That does sound like an acceptable way to spend an afternoon," he answered primly, "and," he tipped his head, "I do enjoy making grown men cry. So when things are settled, we will attempt to recreate the activities of your dream." Then he shot her a quick scowl.

"But there will be no picnics in the Forbidden Forest. We are not dying for tea cakes."

"All right," she chuckled, "agreed."

Now that Hermione had given Snape an update on her 'activities' for the previous eight point seven five hours, she asked him what progress he had made with their research. It turned out, quite a bit. To her surprise, he'd worked his way through almost a half dozen of her potion books. But then she found out that he'd gotten through them so quickly because he had read them all previously so all he'd needed to do was skim them again for any relevant points on memory charms. He said he had made a number of notations for key points, and also made a diagram listing out another series of books they could cross reference from his notes. When she asked him why he hadn't attempted to awaken her to help with all of this research, she got another eye roll, and a notably insulted, "shockingly, Miss Granger, having taught the _topic_ of potions for the last twenty years, I was able to peruse a pile of potion books, without any assistance from you." And when she shot him an eyebrow and asked, "exactly how many times today did you wish for me to call you a git?" his mouth quivered, just before he turned away to pull something from the top dresser drawer by the bed. When he turned back, he had a thick, gold, woolen scarf in his hands.

"To help ensure you do not catch a chill," was the murmur as he placed it around her shoulders and loosely tied the ends together across her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered, watching as he straightened up and pulled out his wand.

A simple, "_Accio_, Hermione's dinner," was uttered, and while he was leaning in again to tuck one of his ubiquitous black handkerchiefs under her chin, she heard the sound of something moving downstairs. It wasn't long before a wooden tray came floating through the open bedroom door.

"Fish and chips," Snape announced as the food moved to hover over Miss Granger's blanket covered lap, "delivered from one of the shops. But here, let me . . ."

And he pulled out his wand again to give the newspaper wrapped items a tap.

Steam began to rise up.

Now getting a fresh, delectable, whiff of her dinner, Hermione's eyes crinkled as her stomach began to rumble.

"Oh that smells marvelous, thank you."

"You are welcome," Snape responded quietly while once more tucking away his wand, "but really, I was simply craving fish and chips myself, so that is why you are having them for dinner." Hearing Miss Granger's soft chuckle at his response, he gave her a tiny smirk. Then he took a breath and as his expression sobered, he asked the notable question.

"Would you like to attempt to feed yourself?"

For a moment she was quiet, then she gave a faint nod as she stared down at her glove covered hands.

She slowly flexed her fingers.

"Yes," her eyes darted up to his, "I think I'm ready. There's definitely no more pain. But I assume you still want to look at my hands again first?"

He tipped his head.

"Obviously."

The word came out much kinder than she'd heard it in the past. And then he added, "please raise them up in front of you, and then close your eyes," so she did. And a moment later she felt the cloth covering her hands disappear.

It came back almost as quickly as it had left. And when she hesitantly opened her eyes and looked up to her bondmate, she saw a faint, pleased, smile on his face.

"Structurally, they look _quite_ good," he stated emphatically, "for today though I would refrain still from attempting more than a loose fist, because I think the newly formed muscles in your palm might cramp. Just work on the fine motor skills with your fingers. So to that end, you should be fine to eat, and to try using your wand again, but aesthetically, there is some notable," he tipped his head, "puckering on your skin, so I do think we should leave the gloves on at least until morning. Tonight I'll apply the Dittany, and if the scarring still persists, then going forward you can decide yourself if you would like to wear the gloves on a regular basis."

Feeling a wave of relief that it appeared she was going to have full use of her hands again . . . it was a genuine worry that the damage might have been permanent . . . Hermione let out a heavy sigh.

"Tha, that's," she stammered slightly, "that's some very good news to hear. I mean permanent scarring wouldn't be great, obviously, but I was genuinely worried that the structural damage might have been too much even for potion repair. But if you say it looks good," she took a breath and looked back down to the tray still hovering, "I'll be happy to try picking up some chips."

So with that, Snape had the tray move closer, until it was just over her lap. And after giving him a slightly nervous smile, she hesitantly reached out, pinching her thumb and forefinger together as she moved to pick up a crisp. To her shock . . . it was a success!

And without any pain or discomfort at all!

So for a second, she stared down, somewhat stupidly, at the sliver of fried potato held between her gloved fingers. Then she heard Snape intone sarcastically. "Now is the point when you put the food into your mouth, Miss Granger, not stare at it like a simpleton."

She shot him a look . . . and he shot her one back.

"Git," she muttered while slowly raising the chip up to her lips.

A moment later she was chewing and swallowing and, dear Merlin, it was DELICOUS!

Before she'd even thought about it she was reaching for another one. She had finished her fourth chip and had just started to reach for the piece of fish with her other hand, when she heard Snape let out a faint snort.

When she looked up at him in confusion, he tipped his head.

"It pleases me to see your appetite has returned."

"Oh," Hermione looked down at the food she was now holding in both of her hands, "yes, I guess it has. That is a relief. But also," and her lips twisted in a faint smile then, "fish and chips are one of my favorites too."

He nodded.

"That is good to know. I suppose we shall have to," and his jaw twitched distastefully, "_discuss_ such things, when time permits."

As he had never previously had a mate, these rituals were unfamiliar to him, but he did understand, objectively, that learning of Miss Granger's likes and dislikes would be an important part of their bonding. Though he did have to imagine such conversations could likely become tedious at times, he would still certainly make the effort.

Simply spending time with her would be reward enough.

And he could see now, her eyes crinkling in amusement as she looked up at him.

"I appreciate the thought," she responded to his suggestion with a warm smile . . . he could see bits of potato in her teeth, "but I know how much you despise having to discuss frivolous topics, so that would be torture for you. So I would suggest that we each simply make a very short list of things we hate, and things we enjoy. No more than five items on each. We can exchange the lists for general reference, and the rest of it," she shrugged, "what's important, will come in time."

For a moment Snape simply blinked.

That was a perfect compromise. And in that moment, he felt completely understood in a way that he rarely had before.

Certainly never by any other witch.

So before he had even given it a second thought, or process the fact that she was mid chew, he was leaning down to give her a kiss.

She tasted of the chips . . . luckily she had not yet taken a bite of the fish.

"Thank you," he whispered as he pulled away. And he stopped, before taking a breath and just saying, "thank you," again.

It was all he could think to say. She had given him a gift. It was the only appropriate response. What was important was that he could see how _his_ reaction had pleased her.

There were two bright spots of color on her cheeks.

So from there he simply watched as she quickly finished her meal without any assistance from him. And then as he wandlessly cleared away her empty plates, and provided a light Evanesco on her face, and a slightly stronger one on her gloves (grease stains) he updated her on a random bit of news he had seen in The Daily Prophet. Specifically that her friend Miss Ginevra Weasley, had just been named the captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and that she was, as a matter of general trivia, the youngest witch to ever be named captain of a professional Quidditch team.

A fact which made Miss Granger grin from ear to ear.

Once she was tidied up though, and he had summoned a breath freshening potion for her from the bathroom . . . "the fish was wonderful, but I want it out of my mouth now," was how she had requested it . . . he took a deep breath and walked over to the tallest of the three bookcases in the room. There, on the top shelf, he picked up a small item wrapped in a velvet cloth.

It was one he had placed there earlier in the day.

He walked back to the bed and placed the cloth into his Miss Granger's lap.

"It is time to see what it looks like."

It was all he said. Then he took two steps back and bit his lip.

Hermione blinked as she stared down at the thick piece of blue velvet lying in her lap. Though she knew without asking exactly what it was Snape had just handed her, she was still nervous about actually opening the cloth.

What if there was a problem with her magic?

What if the spell didn't work?

Or even worse, what if it _did_ work, and this was when they would discover that her Patronus remained as it always had been? Would that mean she would never grow to love him as much as he would her? It was a horrible thought, and one which briefly paralyzed her. Because she already cared so much for him, but what if it wouldn't be enough?

What if she wouldn't be enough?

Now fully convinced that something would go catastrophically wrong with her Patronus spell, Hermione's panicked gaze darted up to his.

"If it hasn't changed," she whispered fervently, "please don't be upset with me. Remember it would probably just be because I'm not fully recovered yet. It certainly wouldn't be because I don't care for you as much as you do for me," her voice started to thicken, "over these last few days, you've already made me happier than anyone ever has before. All I want is to be with you."

Snape winced and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he saw the tears that had been glistening in Miss Granger's eyes, now spilling over.

"You are getting yourself needlessly upset," he stated gently, "your affection for me is not something that I doubt. I can sense it." He brought his fist up and tapped his chest, "in here. And before you say that is evidence of my feelings for you, and not the reverse, let me add that what I am sensing here right now is your panic and grief. What _I_ am feeling, is tenderness and worry. These are different threads running through me. So my witch," he gave her an impassioned look," what I need you to do now, is to pick up your wand, and cast the spell. And whatever happens, happens. The result will not affect our bond either way."

For a moment Hermione just blinked and sniffled as she looked up at Snape . . . she was processing what he'd said. Finally, a slow, watery, smile, crossed her lips.

"Okay then," her eyes crinkled as she cleared her throat, "as long as you already know how I feel about you, then I can do it."

So with that, she looked back to the piece of velvet. Very gently, she began to unwrap the small piece of vine wood.

The first thing she did after picking it up, was to cast a spell to clean the tears from her face. When that worked without any problem, she felt a bit more confidence in her magical abilities. So she looked over at Snape now standing back next to the bookcase where he'd been storing her wand.

He had given her a bit of space to perform the Patronus Charm.

His arms were crossed at his chest, and he was watching her with a worried crease in his brow and bite of his lower lip. And seeing him like that, showing such clear and open concern even after everything he had said to reassure her, she felt a surge of warmth for him in her chest. It was a spark of genuine love.

She was sure of it.

And when she saw Snape's eyes widen slightly as he looked at her, she knew that was what he felt from her through the bond too.

So before she could think about it any longer, she closed her eyes. Then she conjured up her happiest memory.

It was a different one now than it used to be.

Before it had always been the day she'd received her letter from Hogwarts, but now her first, (and somewhat shockingly), only thought, was of the wizard across the bedroom. It was the two of them last night, the first time he had kissed her.

The pure joy and wonder she had felt.

Her eyes snapped open. Then her gaze dropped to the silk bed covering right before she brought her wand up high. She sucked in a breath.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

There was no delay in the creation of the silvery form, and to her overwhelming relief, (though faint melancholy at the loss) her beloved otter was definitely gone. The bond had transformed her Patronus just as it had Snape's! And when she realized what had appeared in front of them, her face lit up in absolute delight. When she looked over at her bondmate, she saw a similar look on his face.

Though his expression was also tinged with a slight bit of envy.

"You got a dragon," Snape whispered in awe as the shimmering wings began to flutter . . . the creature absolutely FILLED the space between them, "I would have loved a dragon, but oh my, that is," and he looked over at her with a true, blinding, smile, "BLOODY MARVELOUS!"

Her Patronus had transformed not just into a serpent, which would have pleased him to no end regardless . . . to have such an effect on a Gryffindor . . . but for it to appear as the greatest serpentine creature alive, was astounding. As was the surge of pride he felt as well.

Because this was all due to her connection to him.

As he looked over then at the tears in Miss Granger's eyes, and the happy smile on her face, he suddenly knew exactly who she was to him.

The Patronus had solidified it.

"Kayda," he whispered whilst walking up to the bed, "that is what I shall call you. It means Little Dragon in Japanese, and you know Japanese dragons are unique in that they are not only fierce," he reached over to briefly touch her cheek as his voice faded, "but brilliant."

For a second Hermione only blinked as she looked past Snape, and over to the silvery form just beginning to fade. Then her gaze shifted back to his.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"That's beautiful. And I love it. Thank you."

A second later she sniffled as a cheeky, watery, grin touched her lips.

"But I'm still calling you muppet."

* * *

_A/N2: Finally, we got the Patronus bit done. I wrote it MONTHS ago! Before I'd written any of the rest of this chapter, so I'm so happy to have now been able to fold it in here. And the Japanese bits are true. Their folklore is unique in that they believe dragons to be extremely intelligent creatures, and Kayda does mean Little Dragon. It seemed like a perfect term of endearment for a Slytherin. Also, I like it because Kayda sounds like 'querida,' which some of you may know is a Spanish term of endearment. Like "sweetheart." So Kayda works on a couple levels :) _

_And the trivia on Ginny, I took some of that from her wiki page which had a few JK thoughts on her life between Hogwarts and the epilogue. Making her the youngest witch captain in Quidditch history, was my addition._

_Otherwise, obviously still working the romantic bits here, while trying to keep snarky/grumpy Snape in there too, plus a bit of exasperated Hermione. They're both so strong willed, they would clearly cause a bit of eye rolling with one another. Though generally it would just be good natured. And now that we have Hermione's injuries basically healed, (outside of her unfortunate tendency to pass out after their magic sharing sessions) and her wand back in her hands, we can move on to the crux of the plot...what to do about her parents. So next time around, we'll be getting into that more. Again, thank you everyone for your continued support here. I love to hear from you. It makes me happy to know that the story is still resonating, and bringing a bit of diversion, to other people's lives Especially given how stressful life still is in general right now. _

_Stay healthy! _


	10. Experiments In Intimacy

**Author's Note: **Hey, all :) Hope you're doing okay.

This could have been longer, but my nerves are so stretched from work and the election that I was honestly just SO happy that suddenly my SSHG muse swung in at the end of this week (I actually wrote all 6000 words here over the last 3 days) and gave me some respite from real life, that I just wanted to slap a bow on it and put it out there. Hopefully it'll be a distraction for some of you as well :)

As to the plot, we're picking up shortly after we left off last chapter. And now that Hermione is better, we have some sexual activity coming up here. I'm sure by the time the story is over, the rating will have changed to an M, but as of right now, it's right on the cusp. But if these more explicit scenes are not your thing, as I always suggest for the sake of your eyes, please simply 'skim' those paragraphs until they are G rated again :)

* * *

**Experiments in Intimacy **

Hermione performed a quick tempus, (just after ten pm), before she reached over to place her wand on the nightstand closest to her. Then she rolled over the other way to watch Sna . . . her eyes crinkled . . . Severus, (yes, it was still strange to use his first name, but it was time) as he changed into his night clothes on the other side of the bed.

Ordinarily of course it would be poor manners to stare at someone while they undressed, but given how he WAS her bondmate, and more specifically, given how he had now seen her partially, or completely naked close to a half dozen times over the last few days, it only seemed fair that she now get at least a peek at him too.

Hopefully she'd get do to a lot more tonight than just peek, and given how Sn…_Severus_ (still adjusting!) didn't seem to be showing any reticence in disrobing with her watching, and the room still well lit, she had to deduce that he was of the same opinion. So she with her newly healed fingers, she deftly undid the top three buttons on her nightshirt . . . both breasts were now fully exposed . . . before she tucked her hands lightly against her chest. Then she watched as Severus carefully folded, then placed, his dress shirt down on top of the wardrobe.

It was lying there next to his just removed frock coat.

So now he was standing there by the bed in only trousers. Her theory on him hiding a wiry physique beneath his signature layers of formal clothing, was now confirmed. There was a notable, impressive, amount of muscular definition in both his arms and his chest.

It was very nice to look at, and doing quite a bit for her long dormant libido, which was already humming simply from the intimacy of their evening.

Though when Hermione allowed herself to focus in more closely on Severus' upper body, and she took in the puckering of scars which lined so much of his pale skin, her sexual excitement was doused as her eyes began to water.

_Her poor muppet._

"Do any of them hurt?"

The question broke the comfortable silence which had been filling the room for the last few minutes. Still, Severus didn't seem to be surprised by her inquiry. Because even while he began to unbutton his trousers, he was shaking his head.

"Not in any meaningful way," he answered, his voice quiet, though he didn't appear to be embarrassed or annoyed, "many of them I have had for decades. The more recent ones," his jaw twisted, "those I received after the Dark Lord returned, on occasion, they do make their presence known. Mostly though, that is due to the lingering after affects of the _Crucio_." His gaze flickered over to hers, "there is some nerve damage."

Hermione bit her lip, a hundred thoughts going through her head, until finally she settled on the one to say out loud.

"Is it serious?" she whispered, with a worried nibble of her lower lip, but then she saw her muppet's eyes crinkle, ever so slightly.

"Not serious enough for you to be concerned, kayda."

Just as he finished speaking, he let his trousers fall and he stepped to one side. And to her surprise . . . he was wearing no briefs. He was starkers. Then he brought his arms up, and made a slow turn, allowing her to see his body from all angles. Once he was facing her again, his left brow quirked up.

"Are we now," he tipped his head, "_even_?"

For a moment Hermione said nothing as she ignored the question so that she could openly appraise his now exposed genitalia. His penis was both long and thick even in a flaccid state, so needless to say, she was very pleased with what she was seeing.

Intercourse would likely be incredible.

Her eyes crinkled as she finally looked back up with a cheeky smile.

"Most definitely."

Then her expression sobered again as she once more evaluated the silvery marks crisscrossing this new area of his body. After a full appraisal, and another blink to remove the tears from her eyes at all he had suffered, she lifted her hand to make a gesture towards his left hip.

"Is that one which causes you pain?

It was an ugly, thick scar, running across his abdomen, through the dark trail of curly hair, down his hip and tracing along the inner part of his thigh.

It was only missing his testicle by perhaps a centimeter.

"Ah this," Snape spoke quietly while looking down to trace along the edge of the jagged line with his thumb, "this _is_ one of the more recent scars I mentioned, and it is one of the few that still give pain, because of the location. There are obviously a great number of sensitive nerve clusters in this area. I was lucky to be left only with the scar though, given how Dolohov was attempting to castrate me during this attack. Actually," his words continued on now as a muse, with his gaze shifting back to hers, "if not for Lucas interceding at the last moment, you would be soul bound to a eunuch."

"Well," Hermione immediately cut back with a firm set of her jaw, "even if you had suffered such a grievous injury, it wouldn't have mattered to me either way," she scowled slightly, "the ability to copulate does not make a man."

"No," Snape shook his head slowly, "it does not. But the _inability_ to copulate certainly does not do a thing for ANY man's self esteem. And to that point," Snape's eyebrow inched up as he looked over to the beautiful witch curled up on her side with her breasts spilling out of her nightshirt . . . she had undone the top three buttons, "though I am most appreciative of the view you have provided me, I am also of the opinion that intercourse should be delayed for a little longer."

At his declaration, Hermione's eyes widened in both surprise, and disappointment.

"Oh, but muppet," her mouth curved into a faint pout, "I feel fine, wonderful really after sleeping for so long. And we really should christen our new bed. So please," she took a breath to give her breasts a slight jiggle, hoping to entice him, "can't we be together? I'm sure that I'm well enough."

For a moment Severus just stared back at her, his lower physique beginning to give away his true thoughts on them having intercourse, in a way that she never would have been able to deduce based upon the blank expression he was projecting, most likely through occlumency. Then he brought his hand up, and with a snap of his fingers, the candelabra hanging in the center of the room, was extinguished.

That left the room lit only by the glow from the fire.

Still, she could see a new glitter in his eyes. That combined with his now notable erection, made Hermione sure that she had brought him over to her way of thinking. So with a smirk, she pushed down the covers so that he could join her. And he did immediately climb up onto their soft, new, cushiony . . . squeak free . . . oversized bed.

He pulled her into his arms.

From there, his hands gently squeezed her buttocks under her nightshirt. And feeling a wave of lust and longing through the bond, Hermione let out a happy sigh as she buried her face in his hair and let her hands slide along his chest. He pulled her forward, and she felt his hardened length pressing against her thigh.

Immediately she began to get wet.

Of course she thought that things would continue from there in a 'routine' fashion, but suddenly his hands slid back over to her hips and he was rolling her the other way . . . so now her back was to him.

Her breath caught in her throat, because really, this was NOT something that she had ever done with Ron! Or at least she thought that what they were about to do was something that she had never done with Ron. All of her previous sexual experience, even the bits of fellatio, had involved the most standard of positions. Still, she was open to experimentation, and she had read good things about being entered this way . . . especially given how her body had begun to ache waiting for him to touch her . . . but once again, Severus' actions surprised her.

Though he did push her nightshirt up above her waist, and she could feel him slowly rubbing his length against her bottom, pressing into her ever so lightly, he made no move to actually _enter_ her.

His lengthy pause was . . . she bit her lip . . . confusing.

"Severus," her voice was breathy, excited, and slightly nervous, "why did you stop?"

"I did not stop," he answered with a deep breath, "I was merely centering my thoughts."

Before she could ask what that meant, exactly, she felt his hands slide forward, one firm on her hip, the other moving along until she felt his gentle caress of her abdomen.

The sensation was lovely, and her whole body tensed with anticipation for what she thought was going to happen next . . . but then he stopped again. For a moment she had no idea what he, they, were doing. If they were actually going to do ANYTHING besides go to sleep pressed together. If that was all, though she would be a bit disappointed, she supposed that it would be all right. The intimacy of it was very nice. But then she felt Severus' palm spread out, and the tips of his fingers began to lightly press down in a familiar pattern.

A soft, knowing, smile touched her lips.

Pressure points.

And sure enough, a second later, she felt the spark. But having it so close to her clitoris, it affected her in a completely different way than what she was expecting. Immediately she let out a moan of pleasure as the magical jolt went directly through her clitoris.

The hum stayed.

"Oh my, that is DIVINE," she hissed with a bite of her lip as her hand settled on his wrist, "now what else are we going to do? Because, really muppet," she bit back another moan, "all of your ideas have been very good ones so far, so I will let you take the lead here. Just don't get used to it."

From behind her, Severus let out a soft chuckle, right before he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"You will always keep me unbalanced, kayda," he huffed, "of this I am sure. And my suggestion for you now is simply that you prepare yourself, because I do not know how much more intense this activity will become. Neither of us know how the magic sharing will affect things, but I believe this is a good way to experiment_._"

Before she could ask exactly what experiment he had in mind, she felt his other hand sliding down off her hip. The first one was still keeping the magical connection. A second later she felt his long, nimble, fingers sliding in between her legs.

She let out a gasp.

And as he nibbled on her ear in a way that was driving her deliciously mad, his thumb began to lightly stroke her vaginal lips . . . they were opening at his touch.

She was now beyond wet, and she knew that he could feel it.

"If you are all right, I will continue?" His question came as a whisper even as his middle finger was brushing over her now slippery swell. All she could do was give him a ragged nod.

"Oh yes," she moaned happily, "yes, please do continue."

So he continued to apply the same firm caress until her clitoris had completely hardened. That was when his hand moved further back, and she felt two of his fingers slipping inside her. It took him only a moment to find that perfect spot, and once more she lost her breath. His strokes soon had her panting in his arms. The light was coming, but it was even more than that. More than she'd ever experienced before, even with a full coupling. Because her body was beginning to go liquid at this unique, previously unknown, form of ecstasy which came from an orgasm born of magic sharing. The pitch of the squeal she suddenly released was almost inhuman, but she didn't care.

She cared of nothing but his touch.

Because even as she was writhing in his arms, he continued to work her pleasure sensors in a way that she'd never known. Finally she reached the pinnacle, and as she let out a cry of, "OH, OH, SEVERUS!" her eyes rolled back and with one final shudder, she collapsed against him.

She was completely spent.

That was when he both broke the connection and let his fingers retreat until his palm was settled lightly over her small nest of very wet curls.

"Oh, thank you, muppet," she whispered with such genuine emotion in her voice that she was almost embarrassed, "truly, I have never felt anything like that before. I hadn't had any release in over a year, but having one while magic sharing, it is," she swallowed, "I cannot describe it. We must join now so I can show you. Because of my hands you'll have to set the connection, but still I can push my magic back through to . . ."

Her words trailed away as she tried to turn then, with the intent of climbing onto the erection quivering so insistently against her bare backside. But then Severus used one hand to gently apply pressure to her hip, holding her in place.

"Your magic is not likely to be stable enough yet for sharing," he cut in with whispered kiss of her ear as he brought her hand back to rest on her stomach, "and the erection will subside soon enough. I will be fine for tonight. That was for you, because you desired intercourse, though I did not believe your body was ready for the physical exertion of a full coupling. I felt that would be an acceptable compromise."

For a moment Hermione just laid there in stunned silence . . . then she burst out laughing.

"An _acceptable compromise!_" She snort giggled while twisting to roll over in his arms, "is putting it mildly!" Then she leaned up to give him a searing kiss, grinding hard against him until he couldn't help but to let out a moan of pleasure. That's when she finally broke away with a whisper against his lips.

"You are completely balmy, and as soon as I stop passing out for eight hour stretches, I am going to have you inside me while we share MY magic, and _then_ I will shag you senseless."

"Indeed," he answered with a dangerous smirk, "I look forward to it."

"All right then," she took a breath, moving into a more formal tone, "but in the meantime, as your bondmate, I refuse to let you go without any release. It would be," she shot him a smirk of her own, "unacceptable."

And with that, she pushed him onto his back and stretched over to grab her wand from the nightstand.

Even while he was muttering a confused, "kayda, what are you doing?" she had already started to murmur the spell she had learned as a fourth year.

Though this spell was NOT one that she had learned in any classroom. It was a brilliant, (filthy), creation that she'd been taught by one of the older, more beautiful, Beauxbatons girls who had taken pity on Hermione and her painfully obvious inexperience with boys. When Victor Krum . . . the wizard world famous Quidditch player . . . had started to flirt with her, of course everyone had noticed.

It had been a source of gossip for weeks.

The gossip had actually, initially, prevented her from responding to his advances. Then one day this beautiful French witch, Azura, had approached her in the library on the pretext of needing assistance with her charms class. She said it was more difficult learning them in English and could use a tutoring session. Never one to turn down an opportunity for extra studying, or to practice her French, Hermione had immediately agreed to help the older girl. So the next day they had brought their books down to the lake, and while they sat alone under one of the trees, Azura had surprised her by waving off the charms discussion, by instead pulling out her wand. Then out of the blue, she had begun to lecture her new, (shocked), friend on how to be popular, without actually getting your hands dirty.

At the time, young Hermione had not been ready yet for THAT type of popularity . . . the most Victor would ever get from her was a bit of awkward snogging . . . but there was someone offering her knowledge on a topic for which she would never otherwise be given instruction. And again, Hermione could not resist learning something new. So even though her cheeks had been burning with embarrassment, she had sat there listening raptly, and taking magically coded notes (the shame if anyone had ever deciphered them!) while Azura had taught her not only how to kiss, but also a few extremely naughty spells.

Ones that could not have been more perfect for their current situation!

Because even though she had only just finished the incantation part, she could see that Severus was already feeling the effects of the spell. His breath was catching, and his jaw was twitching as he looked over at her with a combination of obvious lust, and disbelief.

"Kayda, your talents are," Snape groaned out as he felt the sensation of true pleasure building, "extraordinary! And I do thank you for the effort, but you must see," he bit down another moan, "this is NOT a dignified way for a wizard to achieve release!"

"Why must it be dignified?" she whispered back while continuing to make the careful movements with her wand, watching as his engorged penis continued to lightly stretch and retract . . . the magical handless hand job, "I'm giving you an orgasm. Orgasms are never dignified. So please, my muppet," she leaned over to give him a quick kiss, "let me help you finish, all right?"

Apparently her argument was a satisfactory one, because after a moment of hitched breathing he gave her a ragged nod. Then he closed his eyes. His breathing started to become irregular as his hips jerked, and then suddenly he let out a deep, throaty, growl that made her wet all over again. So before she'd given it a second thought, (and though it wasn't a necessary part of the ritual, the continued wand usage was the key) she leaned over and opened her mouth.

Her tongue lightly brushed along his tip.

Her action caused him to writhe up. So while her wand was still cycling through the movements which were bringing him to release, she began to suck. It was all he needed to finish, because from there it was only a moment before he let out heavy groan and suddenly her mouth was being filled with his warm, thick, seed. It was not something she'd necessarily enjoyed those few times with Ron.

This time she swallowed it all down.

When she finally pulled away with a final lick of her lips, she looked up to see Severus staring down at her, still panting, and heavy lidded.

"I know it wasn't as good as what you did for me with the magic sharing," she breathed out with a soft, slightly nervous, smile, "but it was still, satisfactory, right?"

"Yes," he huffed, "yes, it was quite . . . _satisfactory_. Though," his brow quirked, "I do need to know where you acquired that spell, because I have never come across its equal."

"It came from a French witch of course," she answered with a faint snort, "really, where else would I get such a spell such as that one?"

His eyebrow quirked up.

"A French witch?" He repeated with a huff, "yes, I suppose that does make sense. The French, both muggle and magical born, have obviously made more than a few notable contributions to this field. And that one was most definitely a," he began to push himself up, "_worthy_ addition."

His eyes crinkled slightly then as he leaned over to give her a thank you kiss.

The pressure from his lips was very light, but still, she received that same instance of pure joy that she had ever other time they'd kissed. That, combined with what had happened simply when he'd fingered her, made Hermione wonder just how intense the pleasure would be during intercourse.

She really could not wait to find out!

In the meantime though, as Severus shifted them (and their pillows) around until they were cuddled together in the center of the bed, that was enough. Well . . . she reached over to pick up her wand from where she'd dropped it onto the edge of the mattress . . . almost enough. There was one more thing to do. So with flick of her wrist, she vanished the nightshirt she was wearing.

When Severus let out a grunt and tapped her hip, she gave him a look.

"It was either you put on clothes, or I take them off. Are you saying you object to me being naked?"

"Do not be daft," he stated with another dry grunt, even as his thumb lightly brushed over her nipple, "you are exquisite. I was merely considering the logistics of our sleeping arrangements. With both of us unclothed, my body is going to react to yours just as it did before, and I do not wish for you awaken tomorrow morning feeling any," he tipped his head, "_pressure_, I suppose would be the word, to provide another measure of relief for my circumstance."

For a moment Hermione just looked down at his hand lightly cupping her breast.

She lifted her head.

"But what if I wanted to provide you with that relief?" She asked with obvious confusion, "would you wish for me to refrain?"

Granted she wasn't that experienced in this area, so she did still have a lot to learn even though she and Ron had practiced their snogging and shagging pretty much constantly for a month straight. But obviously for the first few weeks, they were just fumbling their way through things. And even after they'd figured a few of those things out, or at least had gotten better at the basics, she'd only ever had the one partner. And they'd really only done so much. With Severus though, she wanted to do everything!

But that was going to be a little difficult if he was putting a moratorium on any sort of relations.

It was a worrisome thought when all she really wanted was to be with him, in every way that she could. And Severus' continued silence on this point wasn't doing much to alleviate her concerns. But then she saw his expression soften right before he leaned down to kiss her temple.

His silky hair tickled her neck.

"You worry too much, my beautiful witch," he murmured against her skin, "so much that I can feel it through the bond. But your anxiety is this area is unfounded. There is no rejection here. Once you are completely recovered, we can engage in relations whenever you so desire them. In the meantime though, I am simply concerned that your past," his tone softened as he gave her hip a gentle caress, "_inclinations_, that need to please, may make you more inclined to subjugate your own feelings, simply to make me . . . happy."

Hermione's mouth opened . . . and then closed. At first she'd felt a faint surge of indignation at his words, but then she'd felt Severus send a push of gentle affection through the bond. That was her reminder . . . all he wanted was what was best for her. And giving it a moment's reflection, his insights were perhaps more insightful then she was really comfortable admitting.

She _was_ a People Pleaser.

And she _did_ have a tendency to remain focused on a task, be it advanced arithmancy, apparation, or magical handless hand jobs, until she'd felt that she had mastered it. And she had not yet mastered this last one. So it was likely that without this conversation, she would have awoken tomorrow with his erection pressing into her hip, and had the immediate need to begin the same incantation she'd performed tonight. Not only for his sake, but also, (pathetically on the same level of import in her mind), simply for the practice. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

_Oh Merlin, no matter how old she got, she was still a pathetic swot!_

When she shifted to look over at her muppet still patiently watching her, she let out a soft, sad, sigh.

"Your points are noted," she admitted with a faint exhale, "and come morning, I do promise to keep my wand holstered and to allow you to deal with your," she tipped her head, "_situation_, however you see fit."

Then, before Severus could respond to her comments, she let out a bitter huff.

"I really was a horrendous pain in the arse to teach, wasn't I?"

"For a time," Severus answered Hermione's question with another kiss to her temple . . . one to soften the bramble in his truth, "yes, yes you were genuinely quite insufferable. There was even a period where, if it had been legal, I would have gladly hexed your mouth closed and your arms locked to your sides for the entire length of every Potions class. That was your first year. That was the worst of it. But you did arrive at Hogwarts a slightly awkward girl, clearly somehow already unpopular for her intellect, who felt she had so much to prove to a world she knew so little about."

A moment passed then where he paused to take a breath and collect his thoughts. With Hermione leaning so stiff and tense against his side, he knew that she was listening raptly to his recollections of her early years. His words were not meant to sting, but he knew from the faint ripples he could feel in the bond . . . some of them were. So before he continued any further, he leaned down to give her a kiss. Luckily, he felt her respond with affection, and when he broke away after a moment, he could see her looking up at him with faint, slightly acerbic, smile.

"You don't have to coddle me," she whispered, "I can take it. So far it's no worse than I've heard before."

"Hush," his harsh dismissal of her words, came with a gentle brush of his thumb along her lower lip, "I shall coddle you all I wish. It is my right."

When he saw the tears fill her eyes, as a softer smile touched his lips, he gave her one more kiss. Then he shifted them down so their heads were on the pillows and Hermione was cuddled to his chest, with her breath soft on his shoulder and her silk covered hands lightly pressed to his torso. He let his arms slide around her body with one hand settling on her lovely bottom, and the other pressed to the middle of her back.

They were now arranged to his satisfaction.

And with their height differential, and his general endowment, his genitals were rubbing lightly, and happily, against her bare thigh.

All in all it was a heavenly embrace.

Once he allowed himself to indulge in for a moment longer simply because he had never experienced such a feeling of bliss before. But finally he took a breath. Because he knew, this conversation was important. Necessary even, for their bonding process. Also perhaps for his kayda's mental well being, as she needed to know that he never hated her.

He never could.

So he continued on then with his lips pressed to her ear, whispering softly.

"I wish for you to know, my sweet witch, that my open irritation with you over your latter years at Hogwarts was, for the most part, simply what was required for my public persona. Because by your fourth year you had finally shown yourself to have a brilliant, if still not quite focused, mind. That is, you could not always rein in your thoughts. Those seven foot parchments you would prepare were maddening, even if they were the best potion analyses being prepared by anyone in the school. Still, with you not only a Gryffindor, but a muggle born as well, if anyone in Slytherin had been able to infer how impressed I was becoming with your growing intellect and maturity, this information would have been immediately reported back to their Death Eater parents. And that in turn, would have been disastrous for my position not only as a double agent, but also as a wizard with a ridiculous desire to not be Avada'd before my thirty-fourth birthday. Not even to mention," he let out a heavy breath, "as a lesser point, how any praise from me would have exposed you to a whole new level of gossip and innuendo. Teacher's _Pet_, would have been used in the ugliest, most unseemly, of fashions. So yes," he let out a faint hum as he rubbed her back, "even in retrospect, all these years later, I cannot apologize for the scorn you were shown. It was not generally deserved, but it was necessary. What I _can_ apologize for though," his jaw twisted, "and what I do truly regret, was any genuine hurt I may have caused you. You or the others. Even that menace Longbottom. Potter of course, he and I, our differences came from a deeper place, but no matter the opinion of some members of The Order, I did not enjoy playing the part of a monster," his voice faded slightly, "I never did. It was why I so quickly realized after taking the dark mark, that I had made a terrible mistake. The things we were asked to do at the revels, they were unspeakable. Often literally. It was too late by then, of course, to change my mind, and undo what I had done. My path was set, and it was set due to my own stupidity, but I do sometimes, foolishly, wish that I had been given other options. That the members of the Order, the _original_ Order had even once offered me," his voice thickened, "forgiveness. I had done terrible things, yes, but more than half of those seen to be perpetually on the side of light had done terrible things as well. Somehow though, I was the only one of us never allowed to be seen as more than what I had been in my worst . . ."

And then he stopped, realizing that he had just said far too much. That he had spoken of desires he had kept deeply hidden for decades now. Mostly because those desires were so pathetic that to speak them aloud made him look a fool. Which is most likely what Hermione was thinking right now.

That she was bound to a fool.

So when he slowly, and somewhat nervously, shifted his gaze back over to hers, though he was expecting to see pity there for his feebleminded thoughts, instead it was something else. It was grief.

Her tears were spilling over.

"Oh my muppet," Hermione whispered sadly, "I know how cruel the boys were to you as children, and I know that those years of bullying played a part in the terrible choices you made later on. I don't excuse those choices, as I know you don't either. But the fact that Sirius and James tortured you so mercilessly, and never showed any repentance for their behavior, yet were still hailed as heroes while you were cast permanently in everyone's eyes as the villain, it makes my heart ache." Her voice cracked, "you deserved better. You deserved to be able to say that you were sorry, and to be offered their forgiveness for your mistakes. And you deserved love, and friendship," she gave him a broken smile, "and happy memories that went beyond the age of nine years old. I know that you have survived for most of your life with none of those things. So the fact that you turned out to be one of the greatest heroes of this saga, not to mention the wonderful man that are today, is truly astounding. I am so proud of you."

"You are _proud_ of me?" he repeated the phrase with a crackle of disbelief in his voice.

"Yes," another tear slipped down her cheek, "I am. Severus Snape, I will be the first to admit that you are stubborn and ill tempered, and occasionally rude to a horrendous fault, but," her eyes crinkled then as she gave him a watery smile, "those are not your defining qualities. Your goodness is all that truly matters to me."

Two beats passed where Snape simply continued to stare at her in disbelief. Then finally he let out a choked sob and closed his eyes.

"I cannot . . ."

Then he stopped and shook his head.

"We have talked enough for tonight. We must sleep now."

His voice was hoarse, and broken, and Hermione knew that she may have pushed him too far. Because again, this was a man who had spent decades being told that he was evil, and not worthy of salvation. It would take him time to accept the truth of what she had said.

But time was something that she could give him in spades.

And seeing his jaw twitching, she knew how close he was to truly losing his emotional control. And she also knew that he would see such a slip as a genuine indignity, even if it was just in front of her. So she quickly cuddled herself into his chest once more.

"I agree, muppet," she whispered with a kiss to his scar, "it is time to sleep. Good night."

There was no response from the man she was holding in her arms. It took a few minutes, three maybe even four, before she finally felt his body begin to relax. He was coming back to himself. Still, she expected to hear no more from him on that night, so she was surprised when suddenly he squeezed her so tightly that her eyes popped open as she nearly lost her breath.

"Severus, wha . . .?"

But her question was cut off when he tipped his head down to catch her lips in a kiss filled with passion. When he finally broke away, they had both completely lost their breath, and because of the shift in their positions, she could feel his hardness pressed into her hip. Before she could do more than shift her lower body slightly to the left, if only to avoid her dream self accidentally mounting him in the night, he whispered the two words she was not expecting to hear.

"Thank you."

Her eyes crinkled as they filled with fresh tears. And then in the shadows of their fire lit room, she whispered back a version of his earlier words to her.

"Well, it is my right to coddle you as I see fit."

And when he immediately shot back a dry, "hush, witch, or I shall force you to eat nothing but that horrid oatmeal for the rest of the week," she let out soft giggle as she buried her face into his shoulder. Because he was fine now. He had come back to himself. All he'd needed was that little bit of time.

_Thank Merlin for that._

* * *

_A/N 2: So, obvious bits of smuttiness, but you see the chapter was really more about intimacy in all its different incarnations. And I think these conversations about their pasts were necessary for them to have at some point, and given how exposed they were physically, it seemed like a good time to begin folding the talking in here too. Also, to be clear, not a fan of Sirius or James. I'm assuming the readers here, as Snape fans, also lean heavily against them being the great heroes that we're somehow, inexplicably, supposed to believe them to be, but yeah, I think the Marauders as basically assholes and do not get their appeal at all. They're all dead here though so luckily they shouldn't have to come up again :)_

_Thanks all, and again, I do love to hear from you!_


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